Next week, my dear sister Kathy and I begin our sojourn, scattering our folks’ ashes, from Cleveland to Mackinac Island, with stops at the University of Michigan and Traverse City. A trip delayed two years; you know why. I started looking online for my beloved great Aunt Berte’s grave in Lakeview Cemetery, a garden cemetery favored by wealthy families during Cleveland’s Gilded Age. Today the cemetery is known for its lavish monuments and mausoleums, including the tomb of assassinated President James Garfield. It is a well-known in Cleveland as a gorgeous place to explore (and make out).
Kathy and I decided we wanted to end our scattering there, after other emotional stops from childhood.
For the life of me, I couldn’t find Aunt Berte. I was sure her husband, Uncle Bill, (who died before I was born) was in Lakeview Cemetery. I remember Aunt Bert visiting Cleveland and always going to there. Her daughter Patty died in a car crash at 19. Her son Leo committed suicide in the early ‘70’s. They had to be there, too.
Aunt Berte, despite her tragedies, was always so much fun, ready with a laugh, omnipresent cigarette in hand, ash growing long, long, long, longer—we were mesmerized by it—a blue-glass bottle of Maalox at her side for a chug. Understandably she had stomach issues. She was not pretty, but handsome, slender and always elegantly dressed. When she visited, I always looked forward to what she would wear. I visited her often on winter and spring breaks, in her high-rise on the beach in Ft. Lauderdale.
Surely she would be in the cemetery with Uncle Bill, Patty, and Leo? But I couldn’t find any of them. Was I spelling correctly? Bert, Berte, Bertha?
I am a former librarian, teacher and still an academic researcher so when I am looking for something I keep going. I am tenacious. Creative and open to try new inroads. I dig diving down the rabbit hole. No pun intended. I searched and searched online, to no avail.
Finally. I found Leo. Mayfield Cemetery. I messaged Kathy, “Maybe it is the Jewish cemetery?
I was only kidding. But I went online and Googled it. Sure enough. Mayfield Cemetery is in the back of Lakeview Cemetery. We Jews are cordoned off in many cemeteries, including the one in Traverse City where my family lies in rest. In the 19th early 20th century, people didn’t want Hebrew blood mixing in with theirs—even dead blood. Our names are not even crossed-listed with Lakeview Cemetery’s.
And that, my friends, in this day and age, is why I wear my Mezuzah hidden on a chain, where it lies next to my heart.
Kathy and I will go to Aunt Bert’s grave. My mother adored her. We will scatter with love and probably a few tears.
