I know this post is actually late, considering that Memorial day has come and past, but this needs to be written, and so it shall be.
When I was a kid, Memorial Day meant that the water parks were going to be open, Dad would fill up the pool, and BBQ season had officially begun. It was marked with the end of school and the start of summer. It didn't mean honoring falling soldiers or remember what our brave men and women have sacrificed to keep our country safe, both within and out.
This past Memorial Day was very different for me. I have only ever been to a cemetery twice. Once to go with Sharon to visit her father a year after he died, and when I went two months previously to bury grandpa. I have already remarked once on the stark beauty of a military graveyard. All of the pale tombstones lines up perfectly with one and other in every direction is certainly an ode to how our military is organized. When I went the first time, it was a rainy, blustery day; it certainly seemed fitting. But when we went with my grandma to visit on the two month anniversary of Grandpa's passing, it was a beautiful sunny day.
I was wearing my favorite blue sundress that I tied with a bow in the back and comfortable sandals. I thought that maybe if I dressed in something less somber, I would feel better. It was working for a while, until be pulled in the barracks. There were plenty of things to tug at my heart strings. Buried near my grandpa are 290,000+ veterans that date back to the civil war. And every single grave had an American flag pressed into the soil. Outside the gates, firemen had hoisted a ginormous flag on their ladder that flapped freely in the wind. At the gate stood men and women in uniform, smiling as cars entered and left the cemetery.
We wound around the paths that led to Grandpa's stone, and everywhere I could see where flowers had been left for loved one, and people still stood smiling through their tears down at one rounded white stone or another. Dad found a parking space, explaining that Grandpa was "right over there somewhere."
We got out of the car. I carried nine red roses in one hand, and twirled a ring my grandpa had gotten my grandma years ago, and had since given it to me around my finger of my other hand. We started off towards where we thought he was, presuming his headstone hadn't arrived yet. It took us a good ten or fifteen minutes of reading the temporary markers to realize that maybe we were in the wrong spot. But then Dad saw that instead of having a temporary marker, the headstone had been placed over where Grandpa was buried.
I could feel that tight, dry feeling in my throat. It always happens when I am feeling a lot of emotions and want to cry, but I am not ready to let anything out just yet. The headstone was perfect. It was white with a smear of light grey right through the middle of it, with the words "Loving Husband, Father and Grandpa. We Will Always Love You." It made me so sad and so happy to read that.
Of course I knew who my grandpa was. But knowing that it was there for anyone to read; that he was loved and loving, that there were people that cared about him right now, and missed him; that made me feel elated. Sure, when my dad dies, and I die, the people that love and miss him will be gone, but in a cemetery like this, there are going to forever be people there, either working on the ground or just passing through that will see that and know that someone cared about him.
Because that is what death really has people thinking about: how will anyone know I even existed?
Knowing that my grandpa is in that cemetery though, that has been taken care of since the Civil War gives me hope that there are going to be people that will forever know that he existed, and he was important. In a hundred years there probably won't be anyone to put flowers on his grave, but there is going to be someone placing an American flag in the dirt in front of his name. There will be someone trimming the grass, and realigning his headstone and pulling out the weeds.
In a few hours, Memorial day went from celebrating pool opening and BBQ chicken and school letting out. It became what is was really about: celebrating the lives of those men and women who serve our country, protect it, us, and our freedoms, and remember all those hundreds and thousands that have given their lives in all our pursuits of happiness.
I had never felt so proud of my country than I did in that one moment. I placed my roses down on my grandpa's grave and smiled through the sniffles and watched as all the flags turned right and flapped in the wind. There were hundreds of gravestones the mounted the rolling green hill, and while seeing all those certainly signified death, it also signified lives well remembered, lives that were going to be well cared after, and that was something I could definitely appreciate.
Showing posts with label memorial. Show all posts
Showing posts with label memorial. Show all posts
Saturday, June 1, 2013
Saturday, April 20, 2013
The Funeral
So, on Tuesday, we had Grandpa's funeral. I was debating all week if I wanted to write about this, (I mean, it is really depressing, but I can't think of anything else to write at the moment because this is such a big event in my life.) I had never been to a funeral, so I didn't know what to expect.
I got up at eight o'clock. It was raining and dark outside, which seemed more than fitting. After putzing around my apartment trying to find the clothes I wanted to wear, I sat on my bed just thinking about my grandpa. He was such a wonderful person, and I wanted to take the time to reflect on all of the things he did for me and my brother growing up. I was finally able to motivate myself after some good memories, and started getting dressed.
It felt weird to be dressing in all black. I am usually a pretty vibrantly dressed person, so wearing black shoes, tights, dress and sweater made me feel more sad along with the weather outside making me sad. But again, it was fitting.
I went over to my mother's house to collect Alex and head to my dad's. It wasn't pouring down rain, but there were little droplets from the fog collecting on my sweater and skin. It felt weird and cold.
Alex and I headed to Dad's house. I can't remember if we talked about anything or just listened to music. I always have music playing in my car, so I know we didn't sit in silence. When we got to my dad's, Sharon and Dad were upstairs getting ready. They had new clothes for Alex to wear so he would look nice. He got dressed, and so did my step-brother, Nathaniel. Dad and Sharon came downstairs and told us to meet them at Grandma's house.
It's weird, because now it is just Grandma's house. Not Grandpa and Grandma's house.
Dad and Sharon were going to go collect the cremains.
I took the boys in my car over to Grandma's house, where we sat and looked at stuff like her Time magazines and flowers. Dad and Sharon got there at almost the same time, but we still didn't have anything to talk about. We didn't have to be at the cemetery for another forty-five minutes.
Grandma kept telling us how nice we looked. I felt like I looked really spiffy, but dour. I didn't want to dress like I was happy, of course, but I wanted to feel less like I was depressed.
Finally, we made the move to head to the cemetery. Dad took Sharon and Grandma in one car, and I drove Nathaniel and Alex in the other. We followed my Dad to the cemetery. Grandpa was a World War II veteran, and was getting a veteran's burial.
It was beautiful driving into the cemetery with all of those white headstones. They are lined up so that from anyway you look at them, they appear to be in line with all the others. The grass was beautiful and green, which I knew Grandpa would appreciate. He loved a fresh cut lawn.
We went to the main office first, where we met the priest. Grandma and Grandpa are Catholic, so he was going to do a Catholic send off. (I say that like there is a Viking boat involved, but really it involves a church.)
The guy who was keeping the scheduling for the funerals that day asked if Grandpa would get the military gun salute. Grandma had decided that he wouldn't get one. I wanted Grandpa to have that honor; after all, he served our country. But she didn't. The man at the desk thought it was sad Grandpa wouldn't get it, but gave us a folded flag anyways.
The cemetery guide came out and explained that he would be taking us to the church for Grandpa's send off.
We all got in our cars and followed him, parking and heading into a church that was made during President Jimmy Carter's days. It was weirdly fitting. Grandpa had fallen off his bike almost seventeen years back and broken his collar bone. When the paramedics were trying to figure out if he had bumped his head, they asked him who the president was. He couldn't remember Clinton's name, but Carter was first in the alphabet and said "Carter," first. The paramedics had thought he had memory loss until he got to the hospital.
We went into the church and sat in one pew altogether. The priest started saying his things. There was a lot of "Thanks be to God," and "Hallowed be thy name." I wasn't really paying attention. I was staring at the box that housed my grandpa. It was about ten inches by fourteen by six. I couldn't help wondering how a whole person, all one hundred and eighty five pounds of him, fit into a eight hundred and forty square inch box. All that was left of him were ashes and memories. And that made me so sad.
I couldn't even follow what the preist was talking about. I caught somethings, like how he prayed Grandpa would be accepted into heaven, and blah, blah, blah. It didn't matter to me. It mattered to Grandma, of course, but to me, it was a lot of stuff I didn't understand, and didn't believe.
Finally it came time to hold hands and pray. At first, I was just left sad, but then I realized I knew the prayer. My grandpa had paid me ten dollars the year I turned ten to learn and recite the Lord's Prayer. It came back to me while I was in the church like I was still standing in the hallway under the mistletoe with my Grandpa, saying it back like a children's rhyme. I started crying then.
The cemetery guide after the preist concluded his sermon and offered my grandma the folded flag in honor of grandpa's service. It was so beautiful and touching that I wanted to hear the blanks being shot off out of the rifles. I wanted people to know that my grandpa was a hero. I didn't want to keep his service confined to the small room of the church. I wanted the whole world to know what an amazing person my grandfather had been.
We couldn't really change my grandma's mind now, though.
When Grandma took the flag that was so carefully folded, my dad kind of lost it. He was so sad, and was missing his dad so much. Part of me wanted to suck it and stop being sad, but I knew I didn't have to. I cried with him and my grandma.
When we finally left the church, the guide offered to take Grandpa, but we were all a little lost. We couldn't let this stranger, no matter how nice he was, take Grandpa. We asked if we could go to where he was going to be buried.
Nathaniel offered to drive, which was good. I was really teary.
We went over to where there were plenty of fresh graves being tended and created. Grandpa had a fresh hole in the ground. It drizzled as we walked out. Grandpa was handed to the guy digging the holes, and before I realized what had happened, he had already put all eight hundred and forty square inches of Grandpa into the ground and was pressing wet earth down on him. I felt hot tears running down my cheeks.
I wanted to tell him to stop, that I wasn't ready to say goodbye to him yet. But my voice wasn't working. I was so choked up, I could barely breathe. Instead, I stood there with the rest of my family and watched more and more dirt get piled on top of the box.
Finally the guy was done and he replaced the tag that let everyone know where my grandpa was and where his headstone was going to be. Sharon passed out red and white roses for everyone. One by one, we put our flowers on the pressed down grass and dirt.
I wanted to say goodbye, or to utter some kind of reassurance. I wanted to let my grandpa know that we all still loved him and cared about him and would always be there, thinking about him all the time everyday.
But my throat hurt so much. I couldn't even squeak. My face was hot with tears and flushed hot. I couldn't stop winging out my sleeves. Even though it was a cold day out, I felt like I was in a bathtub of hot water and steam.
We headed back to our cars and away from the grave. Nathaniel drove again, and I didn't stop crying until we were almost to Grandpa's favorite restaurant. I didn't have a kleenex, either, and ended up wiping my tears and nose on my wrung out sleeves. I knew my eyes were red and puffy, but I didn't care. I just missed my grandpa, and I was with my family that missed him, too. Somehow, that helped.
It's been less than a week, but I am not as raw as I was. Part of my wanted to skip the rest of the week of school, but the bigger part of me made me go. I even started me new job. Of course, the world continues on even with out my grandpa, but fo the moment, it definitely seems sadder. I know in my head it is going to get better. I just hope that my heart catches up with that line of thought soon.
I got up at eight o'clock. It was raining and dark outside, which seemed more than fitting. After putzing around my apartment trying to find the clothes I wanted to wear, I sat on my bed just thinking about my grandpa. He was such a wonderful person, and I wanted to take the time to reflect on all of the things he did for me and my brother growing up. I was finally able to motivate myself after some good memories, and started getting dressed.
It felt weird to be dressing in all black. I am usually a pretty vibrantly dressed person, so wearing black shoes, tights, dress and sweater made me feel more sad along with the weather outside making me sad. But again, it was fitting.
I went over to my mother's house to collect Alex and head to my dad's. It wasn't pouring down rain, but there were little droplets from the fog collecting on my sweater and skin. It felt weird and cold.
Alex and I headed to Dad's house. I can't remember if we talked about anything or just listened to music. I always have music playing in my car, so I know we didn't sit in silence. When we got to my dad's, Sharon and Dad were upstairs getting ready. They had new clothes for Alex to wear so he would look nice. He got dressed, and so did my step-brother, Nathaniel. Dad and Sharon came downstairs and told us to meet them at Grandma's house.
It's weird, because now it is just Grandma's house. Not Grandpa and Grandma's house.
Dad and Sharon were going to go collect the cremains.
I took the boys in my car over to Grandma's house, where we sat and looked at stuff like her Time magazines and flowers. Dad and Sharon got there at almost the same time, but we still didn't have anything to talk about. We didn't have to be at the cemetery for another forty-five minutes.
Grandma kept telling us how nice we looked. I felt like I looked really spiffy, but dour. I didn't want to dress like I was happy, of course, but I wanted to feel less like I was depressed.
Finally, we made the move to head to the cemetery. Dad took Sharon and Grandma in one car, and I drove Nathaniel and Alex in the other. We followed my Dad to the cemetery. Grandpa was a World War II veteran, and was getting a veteran's burial.
It was beautiful driving into the cemetery with all of those white headstones. They are lined up so that from anyway you look at them, they appear to be in line with all the others. The grass was beautiful and green, which I knew Grandpa would appreciate. He loved a fresh cut lawn.
We went to the main office first, where we met the priest. Grandma and Grandpa are Catholic, so he was going to do a Catholic send off. (I say that like there is a Viking boat involved, but really it involves a church.)
The guy who was keeping the scheduling for the funerals that day asked if Grandpa would get the military gun salute. Grandma had decided that he wouldn't get one. I wanted Grandpa to have that honor; after all, he served our country. But she didn't. The man at the desk thought it was sad Grandpa wouldn't get it, but gave us a folded flag anyways.
The cemetery guide came out and explained that he would be taking us to the church for Grandpa's send off.
We all got in our cars and followed him, parking and heading into a church that was made during President Jimmy Carter's days. It was weirdly fitting. Grandpa had fallen off his bike almost seventeen years back and broken his collar bone. When the paramedics were trying to figure out if he had bumped his head, they asked him who the president was. He couldn't remember Clinton's name, but Carter was first in the alphabet and said "Carter," first. The paramedics had thought he had memory loss until he got to the hospital.
We went into the church and sat in one pew altogether. The priest started saying his things. There was a lot of "Thanks be to God," and "Hallowed be thy name." I wasn't really paying attention. I was staring at the box that housed my grandpa. It was about ten inches by fourteen by six. I couldn't help wondering how a whole person, all one hundred and eighty five pounds of him, fit into a eight hundred and forty square inch box. All that was left of him were ashes and memories. And that made me so sad.
I couldn't even follow what the preist was talking about. I caught somethings, like how he prayed Grandpa would be accepted into heaven, and blah, blah, blah. It didn't matter to me. It mattered to Grandma, of course, but to me, it was a lot of stuff I didn't understand, and didn't believe.
Finally it came time to hold hands and pray. At first, I was just left sad, but then I realized I knew the prayer. My grandpa had paid me ten dollars the year I turned ten to learn and recite the Lord's Prayer. It came back to me while I was in the church like I was still standing in the hallway under the mistletoe with my Grandpa, saying it back like a children's rhyme. I started crying then.
The cemetery guide after the preist concluded his sermon and offered my grandma the folded flag in honor of grandpa's service. It was so beautiful and touching that I wanted to hear the blanks being shot off out of the rifles. I wanted people to know that my grandpa was a hero. I didn't want to keep his service confined to the small room of the church. I wanted the whole world to know what an amazing person my grandfather had been.
We couldn't really change my grandma's mind now, though.
When Grandma took the flag that was so carefully folded, my dad kind of lost it. He was so sad, and was missing his dad so much. Part of me wanted to suck it and stop being sad, but I knew I didn't have to. I cried with him and my grandma.
When we finally left the church, the guide offered to take Grandpa, but we were all a little lost. We couldn't let this stranger, no matter how nice he was, take Grandpa. We asked if we could go to where he was going to be buried.
Nathaniel offered to drive, which was good. I was really teary.
We went over to where there were plenty of fresh graves being tended and created. Grandpa had a fresh hole in the ground. It drizzled as we walked out. Grandpa was handed to the guy digging the holes, and before I realized what had happened, he had already put all eight hundred and forty square inches of Grandpa into the ground and was pressing wet earth down on him. I felt hot tears running down my cheeks.
I wanted to tell him to stop, that I wasn't ready to say goodbye to him yet. But my voice wasn't working. I was so choked up, I could barely breathe. Instead, I stood there with the rest of my family and watched more and more dirt get piled on top of the box.
Finally the guy was done and he replaced the tag that let everyone know where my grandpa was and where his headstone was going to be. Sharon passed out red and white roses for everyone. One by one, we put our flowers on the pressed down grass and dirt.
I wanted to say goodbye, or to utter some kind of reassurance. I wanted to let my grandpa know that we all still loved him and cared about him and would always be there, thinking about him all the time everyday.
But my throat hurt so much. I couldn't even squeak. My face was hot with tears and flushed hot. I couldn't stop winging out my sleeves. Even though it was a cold day out, I felt like I was in a bathtub of hot water and steam.
We headed back to our cars and away from the grave. Nathaniel drove again, and I didn't stop crying until we were almost to Grandpa's favorite restaurant. I didn't have a kleenex, either, and ended up wiping my tears and nose on my wrung out sleeves. I knew my eyes were red and puffy, but I didn't care. I just missed my grandpa, and I was with my family that missed him, too. Somehow, that helped.
It's been less than a week, but I am not as raw as I was. Part of my wanted to skip the rest of the week of school, but the bigger part of me made me go. I even started me new job. Of course, the world continues on even with out my grandpa, but fo the moment, it definitely seems sadder. I know in my head it is going to get better. I just hope that my heart catches up with that line of thought soon.
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