I have my morbid moments. Recently the song, Bury Me In Georgia has me thinking about how I’d like to be buried again. My original thought was to be cremated and have my ashes sprinkled on Warrior Run Creek by Calvary Baptist Church where I used to play. I can’t think of a more tranquil spot, or any place else I’ve been happier, the simple kind of happy a child with wet feet feels.
I’m Catholic now, so that’s out. I haven’t come up with anything that meets regulations and still feels meaningful to me. Besides Cumberland I never lived somewhere long enough to put down eternal resting place roots. I suppose they could haul my body back to Cumberland and bury me in the graveyard where my grandparents are buried and Susan and I used to play, but that’s a lot of fuss with a dead body. My kids will probably be in charge by then. Maybe I should let them make choices that are meaningful to them.
In any case, I love the way Bury Me In Georgia stirred up my love for my roots. It’s a beautiful song.
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