Today is the first time I have visited my family’s private cemetery in the last eight years. I never liked coming here and I refuse to be buried here when I die. I moved nine states away to get away from it. I saw all of my living relatives yesterday at Aunt Sherry’s wedding-- I figured it’s only polite that I visit my dead ones before making the trip back home.

Whenever I tell someone that my family has a private cemetery they look at me like I’m crazy and bombard me with questions. Where? Why? How?  My answer is always the same: there are a lot of us, and we die fast.

There’s a stone on the arc of the entryway that recalls how my great great grandfather bought this land. He was separated from his wife during the civil war and decided he never wanted to be apart from any of his family ever again, even after death. His headstone is the first and largest one you see when you enter. Even after all of these years, it’s still polished. Next to him is his wife and their kids. Then their kids’ wives and husbands, then their kids, and so on.

I find my father’s headstone: small, round, and white. James Irvin McVincent Father of One, Second to None. There’s a plot next to his where my mother will be. Behind her is a stone I’ve never seen before. Michelle Lynn McVincent died on November 8th, 2016. Daughter of James. She never really could leave.