I went to visit dead people last weekend.
It was a journey I knew I would eventually take; yet one for which I was in no hurry.
My mom died in 1996; my dad in 2002. They are buried in my hometown of Vallejo, California, next to the closest person I had to a grandpa.
They call Vallejo the “gateway to the Napa Valley.” This term has always struck me as accurate, since Vallejo’s only claim to fame is quite appropriately the gateway to somewhere else.