Dragonfly

About three times a year, I get a phone call from my father, asking me to go to the cemetery to burn offerings and bring a picnic for my grandparents who are buried there. Sometimes, there are very specific requests. Yesterday, I was told not to bring a chicken, but a duck. And the paper to be burned as offerings, was not the normal Hell Money, but instead, brightly colored paper, that represents bolts of bright cloth for our ancestors to use to make new clothing for the season. I suppose bright colors are always in in the after life.

On my father's request, Jen, Jasper and I went to the cemetery with our friends J. and A. in tow. Three of my four grandparents are buried at the Forest Hills Cemetery in the Jamaica Plain section of Boston. My mother's father is the exception, as he died in the Philippines. It was nice to be able to introduce the Chickpea to some of his great grandparents.

My mother's mother raised my brother and sister and I, while my parents were working 12 hour days. I can hardly believe that she's been gone for 7 years now. While we were at her grave, this dragonfly kept landing right next to where we were setting up. The dragonfly kept touching down on a flower that had lost all of its petals, like its wings were a peculiar bloom.

I was able to snap a picture of this. I'm not sure how I feel about capturing the moment in a photo. Often, it is more interesting when a story can't be verified. It makes it seem much more like myth. But the picture in itself is remarkable, I think.