When my father died, the funeral director, who helped with the arrangements, said he could be buried in his family's plot since so many years had passed. (At the time it seemed like ages since his parents had died, but now it doesn't seem that long.) My mother was to be buried alongside him. But when that dark day occurred, there was a different pastor. He was not convinced that the buried coffins were deep enough, and I was there when he prodded through the gravesites with a long metal pole. I couldn't bear it, so decided to buy a new plot, for my mother, Dave and me. If I recall the words from Thornton Wilder's "Our Town", all the souls in the cemetery communicate with each other. So the distance of separation shouldn't matter. Dorothy later bought a plot opposite my mother's grave. So maybe we'll all be together again.
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