![Cemetary photo](5th%20page.jpg)
The
years have passed and my father is now there among the shadows
cast by the trees and the mausoleums. A stone marks the place
where he lies, but no picture graces his place of interment. It
really isn’t necessary. His image is burned into the souls of
those who knew and loved him. Sometimes when I wander the
dappled paths where he lies, I feel him walk beside me.
In reflection, I realize that my entire existence
has been very much like a Sunday drive. There have been times
when I have done the driving and other times when I have been the
passenger on this journey of my life. There have been laughter,
friends, family, good meals, and happy times. I have traveled to
the tops of mountains and deep into the valleys. Many people
have passed me on my journey as they traveled to destinations of
their own. There has also been the boring endless procession of
days that make up a life.
Someday my journey will once again end in a
cemetery. I just hope that along the way I remember to fill my
bag to the brim, to take time to pick the flowers, and to eat
the ice cream. I never want to lose sight of the fact that these
are the things that make the trip worthwhile. I just hope that
when my journey comes to an end someone will care enough to
remember me on a sunny Sunday afternoon.
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