When I think of cemeteries, I can't help but remember my experiences as a child. My parents were divorced, my father was in the Navy and I rarely saw him. I lived with my mother and was the eldest of six children. During the summer, when school was out, my mother always sent me to spend the summer with my father's family, my grandparents. They lived about three hours away, but I didn't know them very well, and although I never really wanted to go there, my mother said it was better so I could get to know the my father's family. My grandfather, who I called Dad, when his real name was Sid, was the highlight of my visits. My mother always told me stories about him, and as the story goes, he adored me when I was little. I was the first grandchild, the first niece, the first baby in the family in a while. Dad would walk miles to pick me up and take me home with him, and I loved flowers, so along the way I wanted to stop and pick every flower I saw. Of course he let me, even if it meant picking them from someone else's garden. I was told that my grandmother, Mattie, was jealous because Dad was so crazy about me and spoiled me terribly. Of course, I don't remember any of this. However, I remember when I visited her in the summers, she didn't seem very happy to see me. My father had a stroke and as a result his throat became paralyzed so he couldn't speak very well. He eventually passed away, but my travels to stay with my father's family did not stop because of that. My grandmother Mattie asked her sister, who I called Aunt Bert, to come live with her after Dad died, and it was Aunt Bert who entertained me the most and tolerated me more than my Grandma Mattie. Make no mistake, Big... middle of paper ...those. She knew many of the people buried there and would tell me stories about them, who they married, how they lived their lives, how many children they had and all the details in between. For me, as a child, I found this very interesting. I often wonder if she didn't make up some of the stories she told me. Eventually they caught Aunt Bert stealing, I don't know how or when, but I remember visiting one summer and asking why we couldn't go to the cemetery. She told me they no longer allowed visitors, but years later I found out the real reason, they had caught her stealing from tombs. Aunt Bert died years later of breast cancer, after I stopped going there for the summer. However, she was buried in the same cemetery she visited daily. I wonder if she still wanders around at night, visiting everyone else who is there.