HOME | DD

Description
I stopped at the cemetery before the two-hour drive back home this morning and found a beautiful deer staring at me not twenty feet from my car.  She slowly walked off into the woods as I opened the door.  She was out of sight by the time I began to make my way down the muddy path to see the shared grave of Mom, Dad, and my brother.  I glanced back one row and looked over the graves of my aunt, uncle, and cousins as well.

I closed my eyes, trying to remember the burial of my brother and first cousin, but it's been fading further and further away from me.  I remember the back room of the funeral parlor much more clearly.  Dad was asking me over and over if I was certain I could handle what I was about to see since our purpose was to identify my brother's body.  I don't know what compelled me to see him like that, but maybe I just didn't want to be left wondering.  I also remember the funeral itself; the set-up, the faces, the surreal numbness of it all.  His casket was covered with an American flag at the cemetery and was eventually handed to me.  I witnessed Dad flinch and cry during the twenty-one gun salute.  I don't think Mom ever completely recovered.  Not that any of us do, really.

I was only thirteen.

I remember standing there at the cemetery with Mom, Dad, and my uncle for my aunt's funeral, reminding me that the only real family get-togethers anymore either involved funerals or weddings.  She was one of Dad's older sisters.  She was buried next to her grandson and all I could think about was when she was crying in front of his casket five years before.

I was eighteen.

Dad had chosen a green urn for Mom's ashes since it was her favorite color to wear, and I was the one that carried them on the plane home from California.  Today I knelt beside the headstone and recalled watching Mom's ashes being placed in the shallow grave and covered with the soft earth.  Dad planted tea roses there and was watering them every day while I couldn't stand to be anywhere near.

I was twenty.

I then thought of standing beside Dad at my uncle's funeral, doing my best to block out the sorrowful memories of that place.  He was buried next to his wife.

I was twenty-two.

As I continued to kneel beside the headstone this morning I traced my fingers over the chiseled-out names and dates. I'm not sure why but I seem to do that with every visit.  Years ago I'd look at Dad's reserved plot with a horrible twinge, placing my hand over the empty space that awaited the year of his death.  He's been gone three years now and it has still been left blank.  I was allowed a few moments of privacy with him before he was cremated, in the very same room we had identified my brother's body.  I was strangely calm at the funeral.  Funny, that was only three years ago and I don't remember a thing about the burial at the cemetery, just the fact that his urn was placed over my brother's right shoulder, opposite of Mom.

I was twenty-eight.

I looked over to my other cousin's grave and thought of his heart attack from the same year that Dad died.  He was the first cousin's brother and was buried on the opposite side of their grandparents.

He was only forty.

I didn't cry today. . . not that I wasn't feeling a deep pain in my heart, I just felt unusually calm and peaceful.  I "talked" to them about various things, to sort of let them know in my own mind of the changes I am going through. . . that I simply wish that we could all be together once again.  Staying where I grew up won't bring them back, and neither will holding on to the things I've been so afraid to throw away.

I offered my goodbyes and walked back to the car, wondering if I'll ever return.

Description
I stopped at the cemetery before the two-hour drive back home this morning and found a beautiful deer staring at me not twenty feet from my car.  She slowly walked off into the woods as I opened the door.  She was out of sight by the time I began to make my way down the muddy path to see the shared grave of Mom, Dad, and my brother.  I glanced back one row and looked over the graves of my aunt, uncle, and cousins as well.

I closed my eyes, trying to remember the burial of my brother and first cousin, but it's been fading further and further away from me.  I remember the back room of the funeral parlor much more clearly.  Dad was asking me over and over if I was certain I could handle what I was about to see since our purpose was to identify my brother's body.  I don't know what compelled me to see him like that, but maybe I just didn't want to be left wondering.  I also remember the funeral itself; the set-up, the faces, the surreal numbness of it all.  His casket was covered with an American flag at the cemetery and was eventually handed to me.  I witnessed Dad flinch and cry during the twenty-one gun salute.  I don't think Mom ever completely recovered.  Not that any of us do, really.

I was only thirteen.

I remember standing there at the cemetery with Mom, Dad, and my uncle for my aunt's funeral, reminding me that the only real family get-togethers anymore either involved funerals or weddings.  She was one of Dad's older sisters.  She was buried next to her grandson and all I could think about was when she was crying in front of his casket five years before.

I was eighteen.

Dad had chosen a green urn for Mom's ashes since it was her favorite color to wear, and I was the one that carried them on the plane home from California.  Today I knelt beside the headstone and recalled watching Mom's ashes being placed in the shallow grave and covered with the soft earth.  Dad planted tea roses there and was watering them every day while I couldn't stand to be anywhere near.

I was twenty.

I then thought of standing beside Dad at my uncle's funeral, doing my best to block out the sorrowful memories of that place.  He was buried next to his wife.

I was twenty-two.

As I continued to kneel beside the headstone this morning I traced my fingers over the chiseled-out names and dates. I'm not sure why but I seem to do that with every visit.  Years ago I'd look at Dad's reserved plot with a horrible twinge, placing my hand over the empty space that awaited the year of his death.  He's been gone three years now and it has still been left blank.  I was allowed a few moments of privacy with him before he was cremated, in the very same room we had identified my brother's body.  I was strangely calm at the funeral.  Funny, that was only three years ago and I don't remember a thing about the burial at the cemetery, just the fact that his urn was placed over my brother's right shoulder, opposite of Mom.

I was twenty-eight.

I looked over to my other cousin's grave and thought of his heart attack from the same year that Dad died.  He was the first cousin's brother and was buried on the opposite side of their grandparents.

He was only forty.

I didn't cry today. . . not that I wasn't feeling a deep pain in my heart, I just felt unusually calm and peaceful.  I "talked" to them about various things, to sort of let them know in my own mind of the changes I am going through. . . that I simply wish that we could all be together once again.  Staying where I grew up won't bring them back, and neither will holding on to the things I've been so afraid to throw away.

I offered my goodbyes and walked back to the car, wondering if I'll ever return.