My father was in the Navy, and we moved around a bit. When we finally landed back in PA, my mother's childhood home where our grandfather still lived, our mom would regularly take us to the cemetery to pay our respects to the family there, to acknowledge our past. It was completely normal to incorporate that into all our regular chores and errands. It's a comfortable place on a hill with a pond nearby, so when you're quiet you can hear the loons. The bugs eat you alive, and we make jokes about it that many would consider morbid, but I already told you we're a smidge odd.
We talk to mom, plant flowers, go over the year's events. It has unfortunately become the only time I get to see my brother as of late, but it is necessary and right to have our rituals. I don't bring the kids, because this is our time, just the three of us, with her. Our little square with the broken side since she's gone. It was always the four of us against the world, and the world is closing in. I sometimes imagine what I'll look like when I'm in my 60's and visiting her, whether the local flower stand will still be here, how our talk will go, this necessary connection to my existence.