A Name In Stone

I left Auburn this afternoon at around four o' clock. Driving north to play with a band whose members I still barely know had become a weekly thing. Last week, I drove to Birmingham through a deluge of rain only to have to ride another thirty minutes to the rehearsal space (someone's house) upon my arrival. This time, the other members of this newly formed ensemble had taken measures to reduce my drive time. Today, I met them in Harpersville.

The sun was out. The drive was really rather peaceful. When I arrived in Harpersville, I had a half hour to burn before meeting everyone at our new practice space. I turned left on highway 25. It was as if I had been there a thousand times. Half a mile down the road, I pulled off and through the brick gates of a hillside cemetery across the street from the Methodist church. I had been here once before. My dad brought me several years back. I remembered a vague location in which to search. Still, it took me several moments. Then, I saw my name on the back of a large weathered stone: CATER. Even though I knew what I was looking for, I was a bit startled. I cautiously approached the tombstone, weaving in between other gray stones. I walked up the hill a bit further and stopped before a row of tombstones with my last name on them. Some of them were so old and weathered, the writing was hardly legible. Below these stones were buried the remains of people in my family, people who bore the same last name.

The melancholy calm that hangs over every cemetery intensified as I stood before these graves. One headstone was labeled for the "Infant child of M.Z. and D.E. Cater". Another bore a death date of 1903, a stone that had stood and displayed my name for one hundred and six years. I looked around the graveyard for a moment. ETRESS, GORMAN, HENDERSON, these names meant nothing to me; just names. Yet here in front of me were stones whose five chiseled letters represented my whole life. I've always been a Cater. I'll always be a Cater. My heart became full. My eyes welled up. What kind of people were they? What did they look like? Did they like pepper? Did they have a keen sense of smell?


Were they proud of me?


I sat down in front of all six stones. I prayed. I thanked God for my family; for those I've never met, and for those whose love compels me daily. I didn't want to leave. Eventually, I got up, brushed myself off and made my way back to my car. I stopped three or four times to look back at the spot on the hillside. I could almost see it from the street. CATER. A sense of peace; a sense of pride. They had taken their turn on this earth. They had lived their lives. And as I got back in my car and put the keys in the ignition, I went to go live mine.