First, set up.....Every year in May and December, I trek down to my home town to put some sort of wreath/basket on my parents' grave and my sister's grave. It is a two hour drive to the cemetary....then two back. Gives me a lot of time to think. This time I started wondering:
Why do I feel compelled to do this???? Heck, I even start feeling guilty if I don't make the trip.
My faith tells me that they aren't there. I stand in the cemetary, looking at the tombstones and reflect.
I don't do it so other's see me. I couldn't care less if anyone sees the wreaths or me there.
I sure don't do it because the trip is fun. It shoots a day, and puts me way behind on things I should be doing.
All I can come up with is:
- It helps me feel like I am paying respect to their memories.
- It forces me to go home....which does have a lot of nice memories.
- It helps me keep their memory alive in my head. When my dad passed away I promised myself I would never forget his voice. Damn it, I ended up forgetting it. I think I'm afraid I will forget more about them if I don't go down there every now and then.
- Deep, deep, deep down inside, I feel guilty about not helping these three more as they died. Without going into details, each situation had a spot where I could have done a heck of a lot more for them...and I didn't. So, guilt may play a part too.
I don't want to be a downer around the holidays. Just in one of those moods right now.
Anyway, don't give this too much of your time. I think writing the post has helped me understand some of it.
Thanks.
3 comments:
If I were back in California I would be doing the same thing for my step dad, for all the reasons you listed. Being here in the midwest has shown me that folks out here do things a bit differently. I had never seen a grave blanket but there they were, right along with the wreaths. Interesting concept.
And yes, my intellect is advanced, thanks for pointing that out. :)
It is amazing how just writing things down can create insight! I don't want to think about the day I have to do those things for my parents.
My mom replaces the flowers on all the family graves where my dad is buried. Of course she lives in the same city, but even if she didn't I bet she'd still do it. I have a different outlook; I have no desire to visit the graveyard if I don't have to. Like you say, my dad isn't there. He never was.
The whole grave thing isn't about the dead anyway, it's about the living - about what we need to help us remember, to feel closer to the ones we've lost. If it brings you some comfort, then continue it but if it ever becomes a burden no one who matters will think less of you for not continuing.
As for remembering his voice, I made myself the same promise about my dad and like you, I forgot of course. I've probably said this to you before but the best thing about time is it heals all wounds by making you forget. And the worst thing about time is that it heals by making you forget. It seems like the ones we love ought to have a firmer hold on us, that we ought to remember how they smelled, how they sounded, every little nuance of them. But we can't and besides, all the really important things about them can't be captured in a voice or a face or a smell. Those things are only captured in our memories of who they were to us, and those memories will come back when we need them and when we least expect them.
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