Cemetery humor

I decided that I really needed to go up the the cemetery, which I really want to spell cemetary, last night. I haven't been up to my father's grave very often this past year, only once or twice, but felt it would be important for me to go. The truth is, I had no idea what I was going to do once I go there. I had spent a large chunk of time trying to figure out what other people did when they went to the cemetery to develop some frame of reference. That went, well OK. I didn't really ask anybody, I just created scenarios in my head as to what I thought others did.

My vision for myself was that I'd kind of have this recaping of life type monologue with the my dad/the ground. I guess I constructed this vision because I've been trying to write him a letter. That hasn't been going to well, so I thought I'd do an audio letter ala my granfather. So there are my intentions, none of which were my reality.

(And now for the back tracking or jumping ahead part of Sarah storytelling)

So last night Don made dinner which both of our children refused to eat. This is normal behavior for them if we prepare anything but pancakes or pizza. So off they went to separate spaces while we enjoyed dinner. When they're not there we actually have a chance to talk. So part of our debriefing was a little crying over how we missed my father but felt so happy to have known him and learned so much from him. Through our tears we started talking about the fact that there still is not a headstone. To me this is not something to rush into and a pretty sensitive topic. But we decided that we wanted to make something simple so that we could mark his grave (and Don could find as he hadn't been able to when he tried to visit the day before). I suggested that we hot glue gun some popsicle sticks into a cross. My dad would totally dig that. Don did me one better, he screwed together two pieces of left over wood being sure to split one of them. My dad would love that even more since we didn't do it right (his way).

After a beer at home, I collected my hand made cross, another beer and the last of a small bottle of Jameson and headed out. The tears were streaming down my face before I even made it to the bottom of the driveway. The drive seemed to take forever and I just sobbed and sobbed partly because I was sad and missing my father and partly because I didn't know what the fuck I was doing. I do not recommend driving and crying even though I have surely become an expert at it over the past few years.

As I turned into the cemetery I was filled with a sense of dread and complete and utter longing to be somewhere, anywhere else. But I held steady and slowly crept up the steep hill in my beloved old Subaru. I decided to drive all the way up and use the turn around so that I could be parked on the proper side of the road (thanks for that type of odd neurosis dad) with my wheels properly turned against the hill (thanks for that one, Don). I remember very little about getting out of the car (this will be important later). Stumbling over my own feet, I looked for "The Gergler" and then Mrs. Morrone's grave -these markers were burned in my brain. What I saw was a small pot with a perenial bulb, a tell tale that my mother had been there.

Upon arriving I knew I needed to put my little make shift cross marker into the ground, but of course it was hard and I hadn't brought a sledge hammer. I slowly felt around the ground with my feet looking for a softer piece of ground. Once I found one, I used my little bottle of Jameson to hammer the cross into the ground. Comical, yes it was.



And then I just wept. It was alarming to me to heave so heavily. At certain points during that 20 - 30 minute cry I wasn't sure if I was going to be able to get any oxygen. All of my preconceived notions of this event fell to the wayside. And then, I felt better. Slowly I began to just talk about life and stuff. And I felt much better. Something cathartic had happened and by the time the sun had set and darkness out weighed light, I was ready to go home.

So here's where it gets funny. I gathered up my purse and bottles and headed towards the car. But once I got to the car I couldn't find my car keys. I searched the car, I searched my pockets and then I headed back out to the grave. Nothing. By this time darkness and night were in charge and I had no flashlight nor a cellphone. So there I am crawling around on the ground in int he dark at the cemetery desperately trying to find my keys. In the 100 ft from my car to my father's grave they had vanished. I sat for awhile in my car contemplating my options, all of which involved walking down the hill. So off I went in search of some help. (For those who don't know, my father is buried in a cemetery in the middle of the University of Connecticut.) It used to be that the building around campus were always open, but times have changed and as I was walking up to one of the science buildings the janitor was locking door and neither saw or heard me. I walked around the building trying other doors until I heard someone saying wait. As I looked up i saw a guy on a cell phone coming down the stairs. He waved and then opened the door. I'd rehearsed my speech in my head as my situation was kind of weird, but as I began to tell my story he gave gave me a look I know all to well and said, "No, English". Well, hot damn I teach ESL. So I was able to communicate the basic fact that I needed a flashlight and he communicated the basic fact that he didn't have one. So off he and I went to find another non-English speaking janitor to look for a flashlight. No luck. But while walking in search of janitor #2, I noted that there was someone in one of the offices and he looked like he might speak English. So, I gave him a bit longer version of my story than was necessary to just get a flashlight. Lucky for me, he had but it was up in his laboratory and not in the office. So, off I went with the professor in search of a flashlight. Down stairs and though passages that you needed badges to into and finally to his lab. Well, a flashlight he did have but upon turning it on he was unsatisfied with the brightness and sought to put in new batteries. This would have been all well and good if one, had batteries and 2, he'd unscrewed the right end of the flashlight. So pop out flies both the bulb and one of the springs. Ooooops. For the next 10 minutes he and I both try and properly reconnect all of these bits and pieces to get the bulb to light in a consistent manner. We were not lucky. However in a stroke of genius, not like his earlier move, he checked another lab and found a flashlight.

With flashlight in hand I head off to find my keys vowing to bring the flashlight back in the morning. And up, up, up the hill I trekked. let's just say i had no luck. While sitting in my car debating whether to walk all the way to my parents of to call my mother I saw a set of lights coming up the hill. It was my new friend, the professor, checking up on my and my luck. He graciously gave me a ride to my mother's.

I tromped into my mother with my story hoping that it would not upset her. Luckily it didn't. And off we drove to my house to get my spare keys. On our trip home my mom told me that she'd learned that there had been to attacks in the cemetery this year and that the police had put in an emergency phone up there. She was glad that nothing had happened to be. We chatted a bit about the other things and bout my dad.

Having retrieved the keys from my house and been ridiculed by my husband, off we went. As we got closer to the university we began to see more and more cars. The basketball game had just let out. I this town that means where you'd normally see around 10 cars on this kind of drive you're going to see hundreds and sit it traffic. I could see my mother tensing as we got closer and the number of cars grew. I could also see her plotting, she did not want to be stuck in this traffic. We continued on but by the time we got to the the intersection closest the the University, the traffic was too much for her to bear. And in perfect suit, she dropped my on the corner to walk. Poetic. So very much my mother being, my mother. I laughed so hard during the 1/2 mile walk back to my car I thought my sides would burst.

If you can't laugh, you're fucked.