There are many kinds of death. My Dad passed away last week. One of his wishes was to return to his rural hometown and be buried beside my Mother. Respecting his desire we had him flown to the small town of his birth. The immediate family began our sad voyage from our homes all over the country to attend the simple graveyard service. It was a difficult time.

It became even more trying when we reached the small village where my Dad was born. We had fond memories of this place where we use to go visit our relatives. Those were great times full of joy and happiness.

Before the funeral service we take a small excursion into the past by exploring those special places of childhood memories. We expect that over the years things would be changed but we hope some things would be the same.

The town we remember has vanished. Houses are torn down and the ones left are dilapidated. My aunt and uncle's house that was once the nicest in town seems to have shrunk and requires painting. The school stands open to the elements with broken windows and cavities in the walls. No shoppers are seen, as the downtown stores are boarded shut. The town my father called home is dying in its own way.

We talk a lot about why this is happening. Maybe the town has outlived its usefulness because communities close by can offer more. No matter what the reason it is disturbing. The happy places of our childhood are gone. For now and maybe a little while longer some people still live in the squalor that is left. They will at least for a short time keep the tradition alive by developing their own memories of this place. What will come after they are gone we cannot even begin to guess?

The reason we returned to this small town was my Dad wanted to return "home." If there is a positive side to his trip, it is he did not see his home as it is today. Dad is physically gone and I ache with sadness with his loss. But, I wonder if anyone will mourn or experience pain for the little rural town, which will soon slip away. Will anyone celebrate its life with a service or mark its existence with a carved stone? I doubt it. There are in deed many kinds of death.

With sadness,

Sharma