Khan's Castle

I visited some people today that I hadn't seen in a long time. The visit was the first that I remember to where they are, that is, a cemetery.

All of my grandparents were there. One of my grandmothers married twice; both husbands were there, along with her sister and her sister's husband. That makes seven in all. My memories as a child of them are kinder in most cases than what I learned as an adult. Two of them I didn't know at all. Others, I thought I knew. Others, I did know.

The one grandmother's first husband, my paternal grandfather, died when I was 5. I don't remember him, but his reputation is that of being hard to deal with, and perhaps, a bit of a womanizer, although I'm not positive on the last point. My father also tells me that he didn't know his father by sight until he was 11 years old, something that clearly hurt my father a great deal. My father recalls being called a bastard as a child, the pain in his eyes is still visible when he mentions it. He's 85 now.

That same grandmother's second husband is a man I grew up loving as my grandfather. I don't remember how old I was when I fully realized that he was not, in fact, my blood ancester, but it didn't matter. He was fun to be with and taught me things the way I imagine a grandfather doing. As an adult I learned that my father disliked him immensely because of his drinking. Both the drinking and my fathers feelings about him were either hidden from me, or I simply didn't, or chose not to, notice. My feelings for the man are still very warm. He, I felt, did the best he could with his problems and always did right by me.

My father's mother was nice to me as a child, but she had a hard edge that I remember: Gossipy, manipulative, sometimes mean. Now, looking back, I think she was quite unhappy, and in general, not a warm or kind person. I don't know how fair that is.

Her sister was a woman whom everyone loved. She loved her cat and her garden. She had a black maid whose name escapes me now, but I remember her as a kind woman as well. Within the framework of how the South was back then, she treated the maid well.

My great aunt's husband died when I was 2. I never knew him, but his reputation is good among the older members of the family. I wish I could have known him.

My mother's parents were difficult. Their marriage was a difficult one, formed to fill needs, of which love wasn't one. Throughout the family, it is said that noone remembers a kind word passing between them. They were not warm people and so as a child, my mother had to exhort us to visit them at all, because my father's mother and second husband lived next door and we, the children, would simply disappear over there instead.

My mother's mother was very bright and motivated in a time when women in the South weren't afforded much opportunity. I believed it frustrated her her entire life and contributed to her being being cold and not particularly kind.

My mother's father was rather harsh, but by all accounts had a very good memory and was disciplined in his approach to life, always putting tools away in the same place, and the like. I am supposedly much like him, or at least, that was said when I was small. He and his wife admirably did their duty to each other but it seemed to be little more than that and was perhaps reflected in their dealings with others.

I was saddened by the visit, knowing how badly many look back on their memory. I don't imagine any of the graves have had flowers since they were first filled in.

When I see the stones there with their names on them, I stop and consider my own life. As a young man I, like most, hoped to accomplish something worthwhile, perhaps evern great. Now I only hope to get out of here without hurting anyone too much.