As we looked down at the first grave we noticed the birthdate of our loved one was January 11th, 1858. Elizabeth Bender Deckard, my great-great grandmother .
Later, as we walked up to another headstone (in a different cemetery and different town alltogether) we noticed the death date was January 11th, 1970. This
was Edna Deckard Boggess my great-grandmother and daughter to Elizabeth(above). She had celebrated her 56th wedding anniversary the day before her death.
I truly believe the date wasn't a coincidence. We were meant to be there on that day. And it was a perfect day too! It was cold of course and incredibly rainy. It was lovely. I'm sure most people would disagree, and that's okay. To me, it was perfect adventure-boot-wearing and cemetery-exploring weather. We had to walk all over the Seymour Masonic cemetery for at least an hour before we finally found the stone we were looking for. I haven't had so much fun in forever. Every leaf in every puddle was like magic to me. I felt so alive! (No pun intended) Just being on the dirt of my ancestors. Being in Missouri. So many pioneer stories, so many heartbreaking stories. I am forever drawn there. That's where my blood is.
It's crazy because I love Kansas. I love my small town so much! It's amazing and idyllic with a rich history of its own. But I will always love Missouri and will always be drawn there. It's an ache in my bones that's beyond my control.
Anyways, we appreciated the cold snap weather once we got to the crowning jewel of our family cemeteries, because it had killed off much of the wild, rampant vegetation, as well as driven all the local critters into hibernation. Both good things when exploring a lush country cemetery. We were able to explore and experience the abandoned school house and cemetery without any problems, though there was clear proof of a snake's previous existence in the corner of the front room. *shiverrrrr*
Birds nests rested in every corner and in an exposed pipe. Half eaten walnuts were scattered all over the floor. It was beautiful. I don't expect most people to understand, but knowing that my blood lived in that area, crossed the rope bridge to attend that schoolhouse, attended the church that once stood there, and ultimately were buried there...that set off some sort of cosmic, magnetic energy in my being. A rush of feelings and emotions. A feeling of connection to that place. It was timeless for me, though the reality was that the time between myself and those family members and the church and school was a span of around 125 years. It was a sudden, beautiful conjunction of years.
January 11th was no fluke.
January 11th brought me to life. It brought a passion into my life. A passion for my history, my geneology. It brought me a love for my ancestors and a love for Missouri.
Happy January 11th, Reader!
