Feeling Thoughtful

Another lazy Saturday--the best kind. Sweetie and I didn't have anything planned today, except for a little drive today to find a marker for his cousin. One of Sweetie's cousins was a soldier in Vietnam and was killed in combat in 1971. We didn't really know anything about him until a family reunion this year when we looked through some old photo albums a relative brought. We saw a few pictures of a chubby, mischievious four year old, wearing plaid overalls and Buster Browns. The next page was a clipping from the Courier Journal of his obituary with the bit of detail those provide. As Sweetie has been researching the history of his father's Naval career, this forgotten relative became another line of research.

For the last few weeks, he has been in contact with a man who fought in the same unit as his cousin, and who was friends with him while overseas. He sent us several pictures which we doubt any of the family has ever seen, and told us about the life they made for themselves over there.

I have always been a historian so cemeteries don't spook me. We found that his cousin was buried just a few miles from here in the Zachary Taylor Cemetery. Today we drove there to take some digital pictures which we emailed to his friend. Also, as the name implies, the 12th President of the United States is also buried there. We walked to the vault where the President and his wife are buried side by side in a stone house with glass and bronze doors on the front. You can actually see into the house and view the sealed caskets. Slightly morbid but in a respectful way, if you can imagine. On the lee side of the building, about a foot off the ground, are very small vents for climate control. As we walked around the house and into the late afternoon shade of the vault, there was the distinct but unimposing smell of old papers. It suddenly put into my mind that we were less than five feet from the President, and we were the only car in the entire cemetery. The avenue leading up to the monument and life-size statue of Taylor was completely clear, save for a few fallen clusters of dried oak leaves. The dry-throated katydids made the only noises we could hear. As a military burial site, all of the headstones were white, simple, and perfectly aligned in a clean and solemn gesture of respect. And I felt very humble in the presence of some thirteen thousand dead, including a twenty year old man who gave his life for the men he knew as his friends.