Hitting Home

I love cemeteries. Seems strange, but true. They're so peaceful and beautiful to me. I used to love to go out to Westlawn and turn all the flowers and flower pots back over that had fallen down. When I lived in the mountains, they had this yearly celebration called "decoration" where all the families would come to the cemetery where their spouses, parents, grandparents and great grandparents were buried in order to put new flowers on all the graves at the same time. It was a magnificent, colorful, poetic place.

A few weeks ago Mom's stone marker finally was put in, so last weekend we went to see it. She and my grandmother were both cremated as they "didn't need anyone seeing them" in that state. I fully agree as seeing my father "in that state" was just God awful. So, my Aunt Debby, Brooks, and I got Mom a plaque to go right next to Grandma's in our family's burial plot out at Westlawn. Yeah...we're high falootin'. We have a whole spread. Crazy Uncle Henry, my Great Great Grandfather Trannie (yes, that was his name), his wife Annie and her daughter Susie (both of whom he married). It's a whole thing. Don't judge me. You have a crazy family too.

Anyway,  we went out to see the stone. It's exactly what we wanted. And it solidifies her death, which is just gut wrenching. Seeing her birthday and her death date made it real and tangible, and I would have lost it in that moment, but then my Sadie took off. She ran around 50 other graves, almost into the gravel road while I screamed for her to stop. Through Joneses and McPhersons, Jollies and Stallings, Listers and Cranks, I chased her. I'm so sorry for stepping on so many people's graves. In the past, they felt it, I suppose.

We eventually made it over to Daddy's grave. And that makes me want to crumble too, but I was with my people at a happy place, so I was ok. My daddy loved the poem "Do not stand at my grave and weep. I am not there, I do not sleep." This is why I love those "resting" places. Those that we love are not there, but sweet memories are. They do not sleep.

"Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die."