I've visited the grave of my father and my favorite uncle who's burried in the same cemetery, on several occasions. He wasn't a witness, and actually died in Florida. He and his new wife had made a new life for themselves there.
His funeral and remains were buried here, however. I try to make a trek to his gravesite on fathers day and on his birthday, which falls in September, the start of my favorite season, Autumn. I spend time in quiet reflection there. It's a little odd as I stare at his marker with his name on it, I'm a junior so we have the same name. We were never really close so I don't go back with a lot of sadness, though I've always wanted to be close to him, I think I've found his life inside of my own as I'm older. I really understand now for the first time, why he's felt the way I often do. His aloofness, his seeming distance, why he was such a tortured soul.
He was the first one to start us going to the Kingdom Hall, long before I ever knew what being in "The Truth" was. Stranger still is that when I was baptized, it happened to fall on his birthday. I'll always have a reference point to look back in history to denote the day of my baptism.
I often wonder if he ever felt lost because he never took to" the truth", if the guilt he may've been carrying was because he was never able to follow in the footsteps of the witnesses. I wonder as well if my coming into the truth was my own way of trying to connect to him as well. He was the one who started down the same road, many years before I would ever know anything about Jehovah's Witnesses, starting with that crazy titled blue book.