It started out as a genealogical journey. My hubby and I were headed into Chicago to take a picture of my grandfather's grave and headstone at the Irving Park Cemetery. Although only an hour drive away from my suburban home, I had not been there since he was buried in 1971. Not that I didn't care about my grandfather, quite the contrary. He was a wonderful and loving God fearing man whose memory I cherish. My family just doesn't go in for that sort of thing. I am not judging those who do but for us? Fake flowers and cheap plastic crosses on holidays and birthdays? Crying over a body in a box long returned to dust? Absolutely not. We believe his soul is gone and prefer to keep alive in our minds and hearts the sweet memory of him. After all, in a sense, he is always with us. We are who we are because he was who he was and that is what we choose to celebrate. Life, not death. Okay Ranae, off your soapbox and back to the point...
I knew exactly the row and grave number and the cemetery office verified it. We traveled up and down the rows and could not find his headstone. We concluded that an empty spot must be his grave and perhaps there was no headstone? My grandmother returned to Norway after my grandfathers death. I remember her telling me that she returned to Norway in possession of only $500. Perhaps she felt she could not afford a stone? Or maybe she felt it superfluous since she was leaving the country? Even if she had not returned to Norway she most likely would not have visited his grave. Oh, well.
As we wandered up and down the rows my husband made a surprise discovery. He happened upon the grave of a young man we had known as kids, who had gone to our church. He had joined the Marines and must have had some unknown cardiac problem. We heard that his heart had "exploded" during a Marine exercise and he dropped on the spot. He had been quite a popular young man, smart, strong, good looking and a bit arrogant. He would not have looked twice at average, short, ordinary me. But mom told me "Whoever told you life would be fair?" His name was Mark Yercich and he died at 24 yrs old. Now I am only 6 months away from Medicare. As a wife, mother, grandmother, how blessed? lucky? have I been to have the wonderful life I have had? Funny....in his early 20's it seemed to me that he had it all.... but that is all he ever would have.
You were right Mom "Whoever told you life would be fair?"
R.I.P. Mark
The better way to remember Grandpa.
Grandpa and me 1955
my maternal grandfather
Paul Skoglund Sevald
b: 25 Aug 1894 Kragerø, Telemark, Norway
d; 05 Sep 1971 Chicago, Cook, Illinois, USA
**click on photos to enlarge for easier viewing**
