The Simplicity of a Boy

My children were fortunate to have met three of their great-grandmothers, though they only really remember one; my paternal grandmother that we affectionately called, Meme.

Meme was the only grandmother I really knew myself, as my maternal grandmother lived much of her life in Puerto Rico and also, she didn't speak English. I only remember a few occasions of even seeing her and even then, communication was limited by our language barrier. But Meme I grew up with and was very close to and thus, my children not only personally knew her too but grew up hearing my stories about her.

And both as an extension of my own love for Meme and the relationship they themselves have formed with her, my children were very fond of their great-grandmother, Meme. They didn't know her like the young vibrant feisty woman I knew her to be, but they knew her and loved her and she was their Meme, too.

In 2008 when Meme died, our entire family traveled to a sleepy little town in Missouri, East Prairie, where Meme was from and would be laid to rest. Though a sad occasion, it was a good trip. My children had never been to East Prairie before and so they got to see first hand their mother's family roots. My grandparents, father and aunt along with a host of other ancestors left their footprints in every nook and cranny of that town, a town my own great-grandfather had been a founder to.

After Meme's funeral service, the entire family went to the cemetery for the burial service. There at her grave site the funeral home had already arranged all of the flowers which included a beautiful pink spray from her 13 great-grandchildren and in the spray, 13 roses representing each of them. After the short grave side service, the casket was still under the green tent and the family members were assembling around, lingering a little bit saying final good-byes.

The great-grandchildren all decided they wanted to keep their rose from the spray of flowers and so, they each were picking flowers, some of which I imagined would be hung to dry or pressed into a book as a keepsake.

After everyone had collected their keepsake flower and said their final good-byes, they were making their way back to their cars and getting ready to head back to the church where they were serving the family a meal.

Everyone except Zach.

Very calmly and quietly, Zachary walked over to Meme's casket. He took his pink rose and gingerly laid it upon that casket. He paused for a moment, and then gently patted the casket and then very simply and quietly, he walked back to the crowd of people.

And that is the simplicity of a boy that without one uttered word, spoke volumes.