To Be or Not To Be

I have been a member of the Mohawk Chapter of the DAR(Daughters of the American Revolution) for some time now. My mother was very much into genealogy and had researched our roots back to pre-Revolutionary times. In the process of her research, she was extremely excited to discover that one of our ancestors, Amos Northrup, was the Aide de Camp to General Washington. A few years before she died, she convinced me to drive her to Stevensville, PA to look for Amos Northrup's grave even though she had no other details and wasn't even completely sure this was the town where Amos was laid to rest. As we drive through the main road of town, we see a cemetery right alongside the road. Stevensville Cemetery the sign announces. Should we stop here ?, I ask my mother, thinking that it might make more sense to have a little more information before we go on a wild goose chase. My mother says, Of course we should stop, and at her insistence I stop and park in the grass alongside the cemetery. It was a quite a large cemetery for a rather small town and as I look out the car window at row upon row of tombstones, I announce loudly and with exasperation, this will be like looking for a needle in a haystack. She completely ignores my statement and I know there is no way in hell that my mother is going to agree to leave that spot. So, I take a deep breath, say a prayer for patience and another one to St. Anthony, and exit the car. (For those of you who may not know St. Anthony, he is the guy in charge of finding anything that is lost.)
I say to myself, Please St. Anthony come around, Amos Northup's grave is lost and can't be found as I step onto one of the many path between the rows of gravestones. I am expecting to be in that cemetery all day and all night long looking in vain for some guy who has been dead for over two hundred years. Nonetheless, this is my mother and I know her pretty well at this point in my life. I know she won't give up without a battle, so I figure I might as well begin the long, drawn out search. As I start walking in the uneven grass I look down at the first tombstone and there at my feet and before my very eyes is none other than dear old Amos. Is this a miracle or what?, I say to myself. My mother grins from ear to ear; she is so excited she can barely contain herself.
Now almost 20 years later, as I struggle to decide whether or not to resign my membership in the DAR, I remember my mother's determination, I see that excited smile and I hear her say, Of course you should be a member.