The Spiritual Legacy of Family and Community

We attended Feast last night. It is one of the devotional gatherings of the Baha'i community, where the business of the community is presented, and people have a chance to socialize and get acquainted.

We held an election for a member of the Spiritual Assembly, the governing body of the local community, and when general news was presented George relayed a story that happened to him on the weekend.

He'd gone to a regional Baha'i council dinner, and met a Baha'i from Montana who lives out on the prairie in a little town called Ronan. It is near Flathead Lake, with the Mission Mountains in the distance. The man, Terry, had lost his wife about a half year ago, and she was buried in an old Indian cemetary which he visits frequently. He goes there to be near her, and to say prayers.

This is the same Indian cemetary that my mother chose as her final resting place, with the desire to lay down one's life in a remote and solitary place, much as a pioneer would do when exploring a new world. Mother chose her plot, picked out 9 yards of white silk for her shroud, and designed her gravestone, with a nine pointed star in the middle and the words 'Baha'i'. She was, as far as she knew, the only Baha'i there, on that expansive Montana prairie. When we buried her there in the depths of a winter blizzard, it was about 10 degrees below zero. The wind was howling, and snow was swirling around us as I read a prayer for the departed. One image is, " in Thy servant Thou hast reposed Thy Trust, and that is the Spirit wherewith Thou hast given life to the world."

I've only had the chance to return once to that graveyard. When I returned, it was in summer, and deer broused nearby. I noticed that flowers had been placed on her grave, and I wondered who could have visited this lonely spot, so far away from a community. Perplexed, I simply felt grateful that someone had been here, to honor her.

Well, that person was Terry. When he greeted George at the meeting, he said that when he visits his wife's grave, he stops to pray at my mother's grave also. I was so comforted hearing this news, as I often think of how alone and far away this gravesite is.

Mother was not the first one to lay at rest in a remote place. My great aunt, Amelia Bowman, left the United States to spend her life in Norway, working as a representative of the Faith there until her death in 1976. I've found her obituary on the internet, but, unfortunately I cannot read it, as it is in a Scandanavian language. When George told the story of Terry visiting my mother's grave, Taraz was there with Megan, to hear it. I looked over at Taraz, to see the suprise and wonder on his face. He was delighted to hear this story, and to see the relationships that still carry on to this day, and the spirit that passes from generation to generation within the Baha'i community. I photographed him, sitting quietly in a corner. It was his birthday, and he was wearing the new shirt I gave him. He looked so grateful, and contemplative. Later, he gave me a squeeze, and said, "Mom, that's a wonderful story about Grandma!"