When I was twenty-two years old. I started stopping by my grandmother's house a lot, my father's mother. We saw each other randomly, but had never really gotten to know each other. At the time I was fighting a court battle and was set on the idea that I was going to jail for a while. I wasn't sure for how long, but I had this idea stuck in my head that by the time I got out she wouldn't be around anymore. Her and I grew very close during that time.
At one point I asked her where my grandfather and my uncle Romy (her first born son) were buried. I figured I would need to know for when I got out of jail. I knew where the cemetery was because members on my mother's side of my family were buried there as well. I had looked for my grandfather and my uncle's tombstone several times, but could never find it. My grandmother sat down and drew me a map telling me exactly where they were and how to get there.
Several days later, I went to the spot she had told me about. I wandered around for what seemed like hours reading one tombstone after the other. Getting frustrated, I prayed to God to help me find it and I wandered around some more. Still nothing....
I got more and more frustrated until I just couldn't take it anymore. I was ready to give up. I looked up at the sky and cursed God out.
“Fuck you! There's no such thing as God! If there was he wouldn't have me wandering around this cemetery all day looking for my dead relatives!”
I turned to walk away. As I did, I looked down at my feet and realized that I was standing on top of them.
The whole time I had been searching for a tombstone never stopping to think that I come from a modest family who would never spend a significant amount of money on an ornate rock to mark the spot of their deceased. There were just the two headstones pictured above with their names on them, right where my grandmother said they would be....
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