indiana--day of the dead
Last week, I pulled a necklace out of my jewelry box. It has two charms on it, both from my grandmother’s old charm bracelets. One is a simple heart with my name and birthday on it. The other commemorates the anniversary of my parents’ first wedding. As I put the necklace on, I realized that two days later would be their 75th anniversary.
Twenty-five years ago, my sister and I held a party to celebrate their fiftieth. We knew it had to be slightly different, because they had actually been divorced for about ten years before remarrying again in 1978. Their relationship was complicated. We called the party a “Roast and Toast” and included all our extended family in the slightly off-beat celebration.
Their first wedding came together quickly. They had been engaged three years earlier and my mother had broken it off. But my dad never could forget her; and on his way back from Colorado to Indianapolis one summer, he veered north to Wisconsin and found her at her parents’ summer cottage. She was just about to take a friend who had been visiting her to meet his train back to Chicago. Dad offered to drive them. After sending off her friend, my dad took mom for a drink and told her that he thought they should get married, and soon. (I’m not sure he wanted to give her too much time to back out again.) She was surprised, to say the least, and she asked what her parents would say. He said that he thought they would be happy for her. So, they went back to her parents and announced that the wedding would be August 15…probably about a month away.
They didn’t have many guests. My dad’s sister and brother were the attendants, and beyond that only my mother’s parents, my dad’s mother and one other aunt were present. They were married in the choir loft of St. Stephen’s Episcopal Church in Edina, Minnesota where my mom had been living with her parents.
What does this have to do with our travels with Charlotte? My parents and all of my grandparents are buried in Crown Hill Cemetery in Indianapolis. It’s a beautiful place. I asked Charlotte if she would like to visit. She said, “Yes!” enthusiastically, which amused her mother. Kimberly wasn’t sure that Charlotte had ever been to a cemetery. But on a rainy afternoon we went to Crown Hill, and Char wanted to visit everyone there! She loved the mausoleum, particularly the chapel where my parents are inurned in a niche. She explored the basement and wandered in halls I had never visited. But she also loved the cemetery where my Wagner grandparents are buried. We drove by their plot, and she insisted on getting, out even though by then it was “raining cats and dogs”. I had told her about the poet James Whitcomb Riley who is buried on the highest point in Indianapolis. People put coins on his grave, and all the money is donated to the Riley Children’s Hospital. She had to see his grave, too!
Incidentally, one of my favorite stories about my mother and father’s relationship comes from the time of his death. My parents had already bought their niche and paid for a double urn. When my dad died, I called Crown Hill, and they informed me of the plan. My mother said that she didn’t think she wanted a double urn…she didn’t want her ashes mixed with my dad’s for all eternity. That about says it all!
My mother met and held Charlotte when she was first born. By six months later Mom had passed. My father never met Charlotte. But they both would have loved her flaming red hair and those freckles, a familiar Wagner family trait. And they would be delighted with the enthusiasm with which she visited their final resting place and those of my grandparents.
I’m just thrilled that Charlotte is up for anything! What a game girl!
Love, Liz
