Cemetery visit

One of the things we did when my brother and sister-in-law were visiting last week was to visit the small town cemetery where most of our family on our father's side are buried.  This may sound like a sad thing to do but it really wasn't.  It was more like a semtimental visit with much loved family members.  I lived most of my pre-college life in the small town where my father, and his father before him, grew up so there are lots of familiar names in the Lutheran Cemetery there.  I said hello to aunts and uncles, cousins and friends, my grandfather who died when I was 13, and my grandmother whom I never knew.  I did a little math and figured out that she died at 59 (in 1932) when my father was 16.  He was evidently born when she was 43.  She was six years older than my grandfather and didn't marry until she was in her 30s.  My father was the youngest of three.  
The most interestimg tombstone in the place, to me, is the one marking the final resting place of my mother, step-mother and father who are all buried together.  My mother died in her 50s and was given a traditional casket and vault burial.  After my father remarried, he and my step-mom decided that they would be cremated.  My step-mom died before my father and he decided her ashes would be buried with my mom (and where he would be interred eventually).  Interestingly, when their urns were buried it was simply a matter, each time, of using a post hole digger to make a hole above the vault and dropping the urn down in.  Much better, I think, than two more big concrete vaults.  Anyway, it makes for an in teresting tomb stone. In case you're wondering, my step-mom made it very clear, before she died, that she wanted to be buried with our dad and not her first husband who was, evidently something of a tyrant.  According to her, he conveniently dropped dead of a heart attack just as she had decided to divorce him.
Life amd death take interesting twists.