Getting Real

Memorial Day.

I tried to give you a chance.

Today was a beautiful blue sky day, perfect temperature, and gentle breeze. I had just been to my parent's house. There they had a basement full of Mums...every color imaginable. They had been purchased and nurtured to be placed on an abundance of graves, to honor those who had gone before: Mothers, Fathers, Brothers, Sisters, and always a little arrangement for an infant daughter, my only sister. I grew up with this tradition. Every memorial day, our parents took us to the cemetery before we'd get together with cousins. It was the ultimate day of family, past and present.

When I got married, this tradition was erased. Tim's dad had died when he was 8. We never visited his grave, except for one time when we had only 2 kids left at home. That visit was on a beautiful day like today. The view was spectacular. At the time, I didn't understand Tim's way, but I was more than willing to go to the beach or the mountains or Grandma's for a Bar-B-Que whenever memorial day rolled around. I would have been willing to visit graves too, however, since he didn't seem to want to, I was more than happy to oblige.

This would probably be a good time to let you in on the fact that I have hardly ever visited Tim's grave. It might be for a number of reasons. The first time I went was a few days after his funeral. It was the grayest, rainiest, windiest, coldest, most horrible day ever. The grass on top of the grave was dead, and the funeral flowers on top of that were shriveled and dead as well. It took about two seconds for me to draw no less than two thousand parallels.

Another reason might be that I hate the marker. Tim insisted on the cheapest one. I would do it differently now if I could. Another reason is that I don't know what to do once I'm there. Where do I walk? Where do I stand? It is so awkward. Should I speak? Where do I look? If I look to the left I see the headstone of that girl that died 2 years ago on her prom night. Her parents spared no expense: there are at least 15 pictures of her engraved in the granite. To the right I see 3 siblings, younger than eight. More pictures of someones babies they had to let go of.

So when I got home from my trip last night, I noticed that 1 lone Calla lily had reached its peak in my front yard. I decided to take it and lay it on our headstone. (yes, ours, my name is on it, which maybe is another reason I can't get the visiting thing down.). This morning I cut the lily, giving it a big long stem, I brought it inside and tied a bow of white tulle about a quarter of the way down. I put it in water and drove it to the cemetery. I was going to pay my respects like all the other grown ups out there.

Even on a blue sky day, with perfect temperature, and a gentle breeze, and even after 5 1/2 years, I still do not like the cemetery. I left sad.

For me, if I want to talk to Tim, or feel him near, I go to one of our Church's Temples, for it is there I am reminded of the eternal nature of each soul, and the possibility of a forever family. When I go there, I always leave with hope, and gratitude, and a heart that is full of love for a Savior that would make it possible for Tim and I to be together again. There is no sadness in a Temple. I can always count on that.

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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XLXYxmaHWQs

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Memorial Day, I gave you a shot. Tomorrow, I visit the Temple.

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