Here are my mom and Gaida in front of the church, a view from a different angle, and I even got my aunt Laura to hold still for a picture just of her!

Our next stop was the church cemetery, down the road a ways. We found the grave-site of my grandfather's brother, Jekabs; his wife, Anna; and one of their sons, Arnolds.

My father died when I was seven. When we'd go to the cemetery my mom would say that as long as we remembered him and visited his grave, we'd still be a family. For me, a cemetery is a quiet and familiar place, one for remembering those who have gone on before me. An old Latvian belief is that wherever you are, you've got an angel on each side of you. I wonder if it's my grandparents' presence I sense (if you believe in such things!).