I went to the cemetery to visit my brother's plot this afternoon. I had never thought of a cemetery as a place of change but when I drove up today, the small street adjacent to the cemetery was now open through to the large main street where the cemetery is located. On the corner was a very new statue with some cherubic figures lounging around a cross next to the words "Calvary Catholic Cemetery." Beyond the new figures I could see that the high fence that had supposedly prevented people from coming off the street and into the grounds after closing time had been torn down. Now the whole world could look in from Alum Rock Boulevard and see the cleaned up grounds.
Driving around to the back entrance I very quickly found my brother's plot. I always know it because of the huge pine tree directly to the left of the plot. That tree had been newly planted on the day we buried my brother, twenty-four years ago. I remember the drab, soggy day. There was an unseasonable downpour of rain that day. It doesn't rain that much in California in November, but on that day, the rain had soaked the ground so much that the tiny tree's roots had been uncovered and the ground all around the open hole in the ground that my brother's casket would fill was dangerously muddy. The pall bearers struggled to keep from slipping in the mud and from dropping the casket, adding to the pain we all felt on that day. I remember going back to the car completely drenched from head to toe after the grave side service and not caring.
This afternoon I found the grave and stood there talking to my brother. I didn't feel stupid talking to the air like that. I never do when I am there. I talk to him and I tell him what new things my kids have been up to and I tell him about what I am going through. Fourteen years ago I told him about my divorce and told him how much I needed him and missed him. Today I told him about me; about my current problems and I asked him for his help. My brother always defended me and protected me. I know that if there is anyway that he can help me now, he will.
I said good bye to him and wandered around the grounds for awhile, looking for the grave of a friend that died on the last day of my high school career. He was 15 and one of my younger sister's best friends. I didn't find him. Next time I will.
When I left I couldn't help but notice the signs of new landscaping in the area across from my brother's grave. The weeds had been uprooted and while there is only dirt now, there is evidence that new grass will be planted there soon. It made me wonder about change, again. Cemeteries are indeed a place of change: physical change like the ones taking place on the grounds; the change of the growing trees; and the change that they cause in people's lives when they need to go there, either to bury, to visit, to mourn, or to honor.
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Comments: 7
A few points to your power that you are able to interpret this positively and inocorporate it into your own personal "healing mechanism".
Cheers.
Again, my sincerest sympathies for the loss of your brother.