Thursday October 13
I went back to work Thursday. I
didn’t want to, but knew it was a good idea. I needed my routine. Throughout the
morning, though, I was consumed with Gram’s burial which was to take place at 9:30.
I went through the motions of work that
day. My heart wasn’t in it and I couldn’t focus. I wanted to, though, and a few
times I actually did, but my mind would inevitably wander back to thoughts and
memories of Gram as I struggled to believe the reality of what had happened
this past week.
Goth Girl
I was shocked when I opened the
mailbox. I’m not sure why, but I didn’t expect to get sympathy cards. I did get them though -a bunch of them. I
brought them into the house and placed them on the counter while I took care of
the dogs and changed out of my work clothes. I was anxious to open them and
read them, but at the same time, not. I know these cards would evoke strong emotions.
I’d be a wreck again.
This morning, Gram was transported
to her final resting place and buried. Gram hadn’t planned for a procession to
the cemetery or a service there, so I hadn’t planned to go. Peter, from the
funeral home, reassured me, though, that he would go along and stay until she
was properly buried. He would then call me at work and let me know that it was
complete. He was a compassionate funeral director who was diligent in his
service until the very end. The sales manager at the cemetery, on the other
hand, was crass and borderline rude. When I explained to her that there was no
procession planned and asked, in case I changed my mind, if it was ok for me to
come alone and see Gram buried, she replied, “You can come watch them bury her
if you want, but be aware that it will be a bunch of dirty, blue collar guys digging
a hole and putting her in it.“
“What?” I replied, “I have no problem with blue collar guys and it certainly doesn’t offend me.” Peter’s kindness and compassion was in stark contrast to her nastiness. I really appreciated him.
“What?” I replied, “I have no problem with blue collar guys and it certainly doesn’t offend me.” Peter’s kindness and compassion was in stark contrast to her nastiness. I really appreciated him.
I wanted to check on Gram anyway,
so I decided to take the cards with me and read them at the cemetery. Seeing
her grave would get me bawling so I figured I could do all my bawling at once.
The cemetery is right up the street from my house, so it only took a few
minutes to get there.
I walked over Gram’s grave
wondering if my feet would sink into the dirt indicating that some settling
would need to take place. I didn’t sink, not even a little. I walked back and
forth and around the spray of beautiful flowers whose tag said “Great Gram.” We
had placed them inside the coffin during the viewing and asked that they be
placed on top of the casket for the service. Now they would remain on top of
the grave until such time that the cemetery staff removed them. They were still
beautiful.
I sat down in the cold, but
thankfully dry, grass next to Gram’s grave. There were remnants of the dirt
from the burial scattered throughout the grass – a dusting that gave the grass
a yellowish hue. It was cool outside, maybe fifty degrees, with a breeze and no
sun.
I began to open the cards one at a
time. I placed each envelope under my shoe beneath my crossed legs so they
wouldn’t blow away as I opened each subsequent one. I was sobbing as I read
through the beautiful sentiments expressed by the cards and the people who sent
them.
“Would you like a cup a tea?” I
jumped, startled.
“Oh my God, you scared me.”
“Oh my God, you scared me.”
“I’m sorry,” the woman said. She
was dressed in all-black - blouse, skirt, stockings, and shoes - a
self-proclaimed Goth girl, I would soon learn. At first I wondered where she
came from as she seemed to appear out of nowhere. I realized she worked at the
cemetery office when she repeated, “Would you like a cup of tea while you sit
here?” Her voice was soft and compassionate.
“Yes,” I managed to blurt out
between sobs.”
“Would you like sugar or cream?”
“No.”
As she walked away, I continued
through the cards and I continued to sob. Once finished, I sat quietly, amazed
by the support and love I was witnessing and amazed at the life Gram lived. I
looked at her headstone. It was propped up using the vase insert, waiting for
her end date scroll to be added and for the dirt to settle before being
permanently placed. “Well, Ella, what
now?” I asked. (Ella was a name I often called Gram in her pre-dementia days.
It was a nickname for her real name, Elizabeth.) I waited quietly as if I
expected to get an answer.
The young lady returned and brought
me a cup of delicious hot tea in a Styrofoam cup. She also brought tissues.
“Here, for the tears,” she said.
“Thank you so much for your
kindness,” I smiled at her through my tears.
She stooped down, reached back and
smoothed her skirt under her with her hand and sat in the grass right next to
me with her legs bent together and on their sides. In addition to her all-black
outfit, she had large, round, plastic-framed glasses that were also black. They
completely covered her very white face. I commented on her all-black attire,
specifically how it seemed appropriate for her job. “People tell me all the
time that I look like the Goth girl, Lydia Deetz, from Beetlejuice,” she said.
“I love it.”
We sat and we talked for almost an
hour. She listened as I talked about my bond with Gram and the large hole that
was left in my life. “I know I’ll be ok,” I said, “And I know that hole will
eventually fill.”
“It will fill,” she said, “but
slowly and over time.”
She spoke of losing her own
grandmother and their bond and pain she endured. We told stories about our
respective grandmothers. She cried with me. She reassured me that I would be ok.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Jennifer.”
“Nice to meet you Jennifer, I’m
Mike,” I said, extending my hand to shaker hers.
“It’s nice to meet you, too.”
“You’re so much kinder than your
manager,” I said. “She was really nasty the other day.”
“Oh?” she replied, hesitant to go
any further. Uh oh, I hope that’s not her mother, I thought, as I dropped the
subject.
I stood up. “I have to go.”
“OK.”
“Thank you so much again for your
kindness.”
“You’re welcome Mike. Take care.”
I really needed to meet Jennifer,
the Goth girl, today. Perhaps that was Gram’s doing.
This is one of my favorite parts of your story. I'm touched by this young woman's selfless compassion for you in your time of need. Well done.
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