Today I had a late afternoon flight out of New York and nothing on my agenda for the morning.  So I decided to drive the half hour from the Kennedy Airport area to Oyster Bay to visit President Theodore Roosevelt’s grave.

I must admit that I hardly ever visit graves. To me, this was more a visit of historical education.

The grave is nicely fenced in so there is no direct access. Of course, I was able to stick my camera through the bars and get a good view of the gravestone.

Looking into the other direction to the right,  Oyster Bay is visible behind the April-bare trees.

While I was there in a contemplative mood, two separate and distinct feelings hit me:

Roosevelt was only 61 years old when he died. That’s only four years older than I am right now. I have a tendency to compare myself and my stages in life with famous people, and the outcome is usually awe of what they accomplished, and motivation for me.

Then it struck me that while I was there, there wasn’t another soul around. In fact, I venture to say that I was the only person in that entire cemetery this Good Friday morning. Roosevelt, powerful and popular as he was when he was living, his grave is now solitary, and anyone can walk up to it, sit at the bench, and most likely be there all alone for hours in reflection, with no interruption from anyone.

This place, that must have been the center of the American stage when Roosevelt was buried in 1919, is now an empty place of solitary reflection.

Today, it was there only for me. I had my moment.