I Spent The Morning Talking To Rocks...

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.