Before anybody completely freaks out, I know that I have
caused a lot of people an awful lot of concern this past week. I'm sorry.
I don't like to lie, and the truth is, I'm not really OK, but I will be.
Earlier this week, I told some friends that I was struggling
with grief, but it wasn't the kind of grief that accompanies death. Then, I promptly turned around and did some
cemetery hopping, so maybe I was wrong about that. I am, indeed, dealing with some very complex
grief. It is touching more areas of my
life than I thought it could, and it is a real process to work through. I decided a good place to start might
actually be with the kind of grief that accompanies death and is common to
anyone who has ever experienced this kind of loss.
It is here that I have to admit that my Nana died a little
over 18 years ago, and I had never been to her grave until today. I am embarrassed by this. 18 years of denial is, at best, outrageous. At worst, it might be a little psycho.
I set out, this morning, to finally visit her grave as well
as that of my Grandpa Ernie (who died before I was born), their infant son, my
Uncle Marc, who I didn't even realize existed until last week, and my
great-grandparents, whom I also never met.
So, five graves, one person who I had the opportunity to know and love
deeply.
By its very nature, this post should be somber, start to
finish. Well, you can forget that,
because this is my life, and nothing
is ever "normal". Because it
is difficult for me to follow GPS and drive at the same time (yes, I admit it),
I plugged the address my dad gave me for the cemetery into mapquest, printed
out paper instructions, and went on my way.
This was going really well until I got to where the cemetery was
supposed to be, and it wasn't there.
It's always awesome to be lost in Detroit, alone. This happened to me twice today, but I
digress. So, I pulled into a church
parking lot, parked under a sign that said, "Unauthorized vehicles will be
towed," and attempted to use the Internet feature on my phone to pull up
my email in order to figure out what had gone wrong with this address. As it turns out, it was my dad's fault. I can't wait to tell him all about it. I have already publicly disgraced him on
facebook, which doesn't really matter, since he has informed me that he will
never, ever have a facebook account... ever.
He missed a number in the address.
Initially, it looked like I was going to have to wind through miles and
miles of city streets, but it's a good thing I double checked, because actually
I was only about a block away.
So, I finally arrive at this enormous cemetery, and I drive
for just a few moments as it occurs to me that I legitimately need help to find
the graves, because this place is literally over 100 acres. I park where I think the office is and
approach the front door which has a sign posted directing me to the stone
building. Uh... There were a lot of stone buildings, but I
found it. Thankfully, the man who
greeted me in the office was about the nicest person I think I have ever
met. He asked for the names, chatted a
little bit about my German heritage, asked if there was a grave marker, to
which I was like, "Well, I think so.
I certainly hope so!", and proceeded to give me two detailed maps
and step by step directions for how to arrive at the right place. I think he called me, "Honey," like
15 times. He was old. That makes it endearing. When he was finished giving directions, he
asked if it made sense, and I said, "Yes," to his great relief. I mean, he visibly sighed. I decided not to tell him what a horrific
failure I am at following directions.
Speaking of which, why do cemeteries have so many rules
about flowers? I might have broken them
all, today. Don't tell anybody.
I basically followed the directions to the general area
where the graves were, and from the road I could see a large headstone
indicating that I was in the right place.
Unfortunately, I could also see four riding lawnmowers and a weed whacker... and I mean right there in front of me. Seriously?
I wait 18 years to visit this grave and at this very moment it is lawn maintenance
time? The severity of this is only
obvious if you understand how terribly allergic I am to cut grass. At this point I have turned the van off and
am sweltering as I watch the weed whacker guy take care of the family
headstone. And then, after several more
minutes, most of the maintenance people disappear, and I get out of the van.
Now this is sort of funny, but as a kid it was drilled into
me by my mother that you must never walk over a grave. I mean, I was terrified that if I walked over
a grave a ghost would haunt me or something.
I remember there being some antidote that required walking back over the
grave, but come on, I don't have time for that.
So I sort of mumbled, "Excuse me, sorry, thanks for being my grandparents
neighbors, oops, didn't mean to disturb your death," as I walked over all
kinds of people today. OK, I really only
said these things in my head. It wasn't audible
or anything.
I was actually surprised that the large headstone I had
observed was for my great-grandparents and the baby. This, of course, left me wondering where
Grandpa Ernie and Nana were buried. A
few more steps, and there were their grave markers, not at all what I expected
to see. Nana's name was almost entirely
obscured by dirt and grass that had grown over the marker. I was actually a little distraught by this,
says the person who has never, ever even been there.
So, you have to understand that my Nana was the classiest
lady ever. We're talking perfect hair,
nails and make-up, an international traveler until she was gone. Two thoughts went through my mind. First, there is no way it is acceptable for
her grave marker to look like this.
Second, she would be appalled if her granddaughter used her keys... and
fingernails... to clear this debris.
Well, I have no idea how my amazingly classy Nana got a granddaughter
like me, but you'd better believe I walked away from that place with tons of
dirt under my nails. I didn't manage to
clear nearly as much as would have liked, though, because at some point whole
clumps of grass and dirt were coming up, and I really had no intention of
exhuming anyone today, so I figured I'd better quit while I was ahead. If anyone was observing, it must have been a
real sight. Let's add "digging in
the cemetery" to "talks to rocks"...
Well, seeing as it was a beautiful, dry, sunny day, I did
spend some time sitting on Nana's grave (I don't think she'd mind), and
talking, and crying. I told her about my
kids, and especially about Miah, since Miah's middle name is her own. I talked about life. I needed that. And I prayed.
I needed that, too. As I was
leaving, I said, "Good-bye, but not forever. That's what resurrection is for." I was going to post that thought to facebook,
but since so many people have been panicked about my own well being, I decided
it might be misunderstood and refrained.
But it was really good to consider that fact that death is not
final. Grief is temporary.
From there, I proceeded to drive to the cemetery where
Mammaw and Paw are buried. Now, this is
a completely different kind of experience, because I have been there many
times. After Mammaw died, Paw spent
almost every day for two solid years at the cemetery. He would take a lawnchair with him and sit
there from the time the cemetery opened until it closed. I have never seen that kind of grief before,
and I have never seen it again. It was
heart-breaking. Mostly I say that,
though, to indicate that it was not difficult for me to find these graves. Finding a place to park was another story,
because the ordinary parking place was reserved for a funeral.
I grabbed my camera and some more flowers and made the same
kind of trek over lots of other graves that I had made at the first
cemetery. I guess it had been a little
longer than I'd thought since I was last there (7 years), because it took a
little while to find the right tree.
Their marker was also a real mess, so I got down on my knees
to clean it off, only to realize that the ground was soaking wet. So, this is the part where I just about burst
out laughing in the middle of a cemetery, and I have to consider how terribly
inappropriate that is, but really, it was funny. I would imagine it would also have been
pretty funny if anyone had seen me trying to figure out the built in vase that
you actually have to pull out of the grave marker and flip upside down to leave
flowers in accordance with the rules. I
figured it out... eventually... I was
able to leave more flowers there, since I wasn't discreetly breaking rules this
time.
I sang at Mammaw and Paw's graves, and believe me, it was
not pretty, because crying and singing don't go too well together, and the
bells from the nearby mausoleum were chiming patriotic tunes while I murmured
some hymns, but whatever. It was what I
needed to do.
At both places, I was somewhat enamored by the dates. I physically reacted to my Grandpa Ernie's
date of death, because it is Caleb's birthday.
I never knew that. I was overcome
by the faithfulness my Nana expressed in living for 27 years without him. I was overwhelmed by Mammaw's date of death,
even though, of course, I have always
known it, because it helped me to process some of the ways that her death
affected my life at that time. And I was
shocked to realize that Paw has been gone 7 years. Again, I know it, but it doesn't feel like it
can possibly be that long. There was
another marker that caught my eye, though, and it made me really sad. There was a relatively new grave near Mammaw
and Paw's, and it wasn't neatly lined up with all the rest. I took a peek, and there was a name and an
inscription that indicated that the marker was provided by the cemetery. But there were no dates at all. This was astoundingly sad to me, as if this
was a life that didn't really exist in any particular time or place. Of course, that's not true, but in 100 years,
who would ever know?
I've heard people say that it's not the dates that really
matter but the line drawn between them.
Maybe it's because we're not so far removed from Easter, but as I was
getting ready to leave the second cemetery, wet pants and all, I considered
Scripture, "Why do you look for the living among the dead?" (Luke
24:5b). And I had to stop and ask
myself, Why do I? It was very good for
me to make this trip. I may make it more
often in the future. But the thing that
really struck me was the heritage that these wonderful grandparents have left
and the significance of what I do with it now.
Life is short, shorter than any of us really wants to consider. Make it count. And, also, don't lose sight of the hope that
we have for eternity.
I am still processing things. This was a good first step. In recent days, these past few months, and
particularly the past week, my life has been a huge series of highs and
lows. It feels like a really bad roller
coaster ride, without the seatbelts, some days.
You could keep praying for me. I
am currently out of town for some soul care days (I know, again, I have
catching up to do), and waiting for my amazing husband to finish up the
responsibilities he has, today, so he can come pick me up for a date. The man has seriously had to chase me around
the state this past week in order to see me, so you could pray for him, too. I am blessed.
I'm still a mess, but God is doing good things. That doesn't mean that I'm not going to say
things that make everybody uncomfortable.
It's OK. I'm working through it. Did I mention I'm really blessed?
L.
