Essay On My Birthday

704 Words3 Pages
My heart thumped with heaviness while my eyes slipped passed the car window as my family approached the local cemetery. Slate colored clouds hung low against the horizon, properly setting the temper for the journey we were making to my great-aunt’s grave in remembrance of her birthday.
The car ride up to the local cemetery in a small town in New Jersey was as silent as the ghost of my great-aunt herself- empty and bleak. I only assumed that everyone around me was clinging onto the past memories we shared with her, feeling the shock of what we could no longer turn the pages of time back to. I could not fully imagine how my dad must have felt that somber day. He would often reminisce about the tender moments he shared with her as a spirited youth with the rest of the family, his voice always springing to life when he spoke of the past. Sitting in the back of the car, I glanced at him in the driver’s seat, peering at his eyes to notice how he seemed to be staring into another place of existence that was left untouchable to the rest of my family.
The tires of the car grinded against the gravel of the parking lot pulling into the cemetery. My mother handed my sister and I each a bouquet of ambrosias, our great-aunt’s favorite flower. Looking up at my mother while gingerly taking the bouquet out of her grasp, I could see that her usually rosy cheeks were streaked with tear drops, glistening ever so lightly against her skin. She gave my sister and me a seemingly reassuring smile while we all began to solemnly march towards the massive black iron gates of the entrance in the same ghostly silence that lingered in the car.
We proceeded to walk to my great-aunt’s grave, each of us recalling our own individual moments of laughter and bliss with her. The infectious giggle that she would release each and every moment of humor we spent together echoed in my mind like a far-off dream as we neared her tombstone, littered with previous bouquets of wilting flowers, cracked acorn shells, and decaying leaves.
The weathered cream pages of my father’s prayer book crinkled in the chilly breeze as he turned to the prayers often said in times of remembrance of the loved whose souls have moved on into the next life. We then all

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