There it was. I opened the paper to find news of our community and there it was. That was my headstone featured in the article on Memorial Day. Of course, I never think of it as "my" headstone. This is always referred to as David's headstone or David's grave. But there it was. Big. Bold. "PHIILIPS". The only name you could really read on the headstone was mine. The flowers obscured Janene's name, thankfully, and David's name is in the shadow. It was unsettling to say the least.
We had just spent the weekend visiting the graves of people we know and love. There was David's for sure, but we also walked a hundred feet over to my Mom's grave to place a flag similar to David's. My name is on that headstone also. I shiver every time I see that. Next to my headstone is Janene's Mom and Dad's. We spent a lot of time this last year making sure everything is right with that one. Janene's name is on that one too. We, with some of our grandkids visited other graves nearby. My grandfather and grandmother's are close. So is grandma's parent's headstone and their parent's. And their parent's. The boy who lived next door. The neighbor down the street who just took up occupancy in this little subset of Bountiful residents who now reside in a new subdivision where nobody plays their music too loud, the kids don't ride the streets, and no one talks to anyone on their front porches.
I think to myself that I do not look forward to moving there anytime soon. I like talking to my neighbors. I like the sound of kid's laughter wafting through the neighborhood. I am even OK with the noisy neighbors and their teenage pool party kids and the barking dogs. Certainly I know that this is not where I will really live after this life, but I still don't look forward to spending too much time in this particular Bountiful neighborhood with my name carved onto the stone rooftop - with newspaper photographers snapping pictures of my newfound home.
