I'm back, with stories to tell and ideas to ponder.
A death in the family took me out of internet range and out of life in general for the last week or so, and plopped me down square in the middle of my upbringing. It felt as though I had turned back the clock and walked into my past, but in the body and with the accomplishments of the person I am now. Oddly enough, it's in that history I found a fresh perspective.
We laid my grandfather to rest under the old oak tree. It sounds like a line out of a book, but I promise you, it's the truth. It's a tree that he and his brothers planted on what was once the far edge of the church property. Now, the cemetery has grown to meet that tree, and in a symbiosis that only the circle of life could create, the mighty branches of that oak tree will shade the final resting place of the man who planted it for as long as it stands.
Grandfather was a simple man. He didn't own a suit - he met St. Peter in a burgundy turtleneck, his favorite work pants, and his best hat. Watches were his one vice - expandable bands and old fashioned faces. A digital timepiece never graced his wrist. Really, no watch ever graced his wrist, as he would put them on over his long sleeve shirt, then roll the cuff over the face to protect it. This year, his watch conveniently "quit working" about two weeks ago, and he bought a new one at the after Christmas sales. Surprisingly enough, when my cousin picked up the old one, it worked just fine. Did the battery glitch? Or did he just want a new one? We'll never know, but he took the new one with him.
There was no pomp and circumstance surrounding his passing. He didn't want it that way. A visitation filled a room at the old funeral home as friends, neighbors and former co-workers came to pay their respects to the family. The next day, members of the Junior Order read the rites of a graveside service, and cousins sang his two favorite hymns. As the wind whipped up and we made way for the next interment, a distant family member being laid to rest on the other side of the cemetery, I felt as though it was what Grandfather would have wanted.
There is so much more to say, so many impressions to relate, and little quirks to tell. The entire experience was impressive, but at the same time taxing. I was there to support my family, but no one was there to support me. But it did leave me with a question I pose to you:
Do you know where you're going when you die? I do. I've seen my own grave.
I should probably clarify a bit. I'm not talking spiritually - I mean right here on earth. I've known for years that my parents purchased gravesites for the entire family, but I never knew where. I didn't care to know, and I never felt the need to know. After this week, I know exactly where it is, which one it is, and even sat on it during my grandfather's service. An eerie feeling that at the same time leaves me with a sense of comfort. In an odd way, it's nice to know that I'll be surrounded by family, that I'll be part of a greater history, rather than be forgotten somewhere in a large commercial cemetery.
I'm not sure where to go from here - that sort of planning is commonplace where I come from, but I'm willing to bet that those of you reading this will think me a little off base....that and I'm getting really tired. I'll scatter more observations through the next few posts.
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2 comments:
So sorry to hear about your grandfather passing away! The story about the tree your grandfather planted is very touching.
As I said earlier this week on Flash's blog, I want to go up in flames. Ash to ash, dust to dust.
But if I were to be buried, to know WHERE I'd be buried would be eerie and comforting at the same time.
I second Yoda's first comment.
"...in a symbiosis that only the circle of life could create, the mighty branches of that oak tree will shade the final resting place of the man who planted it for as long as it stands."
I didn't know the man, but that sentence put a lump in my throat.
It's sad to hear that you feel there was no one there, among all that family, to support you.
When my mother had her stroke/cerebral hemmorrhage, I, being unemployed and unmarried at the time, was the only of her 7 children able to accompany my father with the ambulance to the hospital where she died three days later. While she slowly slipped farther away from us I made the 100-mile, one-way trip three times in 2 days without sleep, the third time with a Jeep-load of people back to the hospital, as we all just knew this was the end.
I had done my heavy grieving before any of the rest of the family got there. So as my siblings and nieces and nephews weakened and broke down from sorrow, I reached out to them, and in so doing I felt them holding me up as I held them.
I hope maybe you can look back on those recent sad days with your family and see that they were there for you as you were for them.
And I don't think you're off base just from reading this post. All of your other posts helped, too. :-)
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