{Originally published on Truth Is Freedom.}

A daily ritual for 40 years, the door swinging open on creaking hinges. At first that noise had bothered him, but now it was a comfort. Something familiar. Step, shuffle, 12 steps with the right leg and 11 shuffles with the left foot. The distance hadn’t changed, but the numbers had slowly increased through the years. The door closed behind him, a creak followed by a thump and then the snick of the oiled latch springing home.

The rows of faded post boxes covered the rear wall of the foyer; many were empty now, holding only memories. The labels spoke eloquently of times when hope and promises filled the room, but that had changed as the world forgot the sacrifices they all had made. The key ring dangled from his right hand as he reached his destination, and with gentle chimes his gnarled shaking fingers slid the worn brass key into the lock. A turn, the door opened, and the letter was revealed.

He tilted his head to one side and caught his breath. Was this finally the one? He reached in and withdrew the envelope addressed to Occupant. A clink and the post box closed, and he dropped the keys back into his pocket. He turned, step, shuffle, six steps with the right leg and five shuffles with the left foot as he made his way to the table bolted to the west wall. There was a clunk as he hung his cane on the edge, 8.5 inches from the right end; the silver eagle’s head was worn, but the engraving, 41st Regimental Engineers, could still be seen on the band.

He set the letter down, three inches from the front edge and directly in front of him. He fumbled for his reading glasses and hooked them over his ears, left side first, then the right. With his left hand, he withdrew a penknife from the inner pocket of his overcoat and turned the letter over until it rested perpendicular to his waist. He flicked open the blade, the shimmering cover said congratulations on your retirement; the sharp steel made a soft hissing noise as he slit open the cream colored paper from bottom to top.

{Originally Posted at Bring the Rain}

Take off your sandals, for the place
where you are standing is
holy ground…

Exodus 3:5

The funeral home called a few days ago (7/8) to tell us that Audrey’s grave marker was in.

This
week has been hard, and for some reason, this pushed me over the edge
emotionally. I don’t even know if I could say it was sadness, because
I have been waiting for weeks for this call. I wanted her to have more
than the little plastic placeholder with the piece of paper in it. I
was relieved that it was finally there, but it took my breath away to
hear the words. It feels so final.

Immediately,
I told Todd I wanted to go over and see it. We only have one car right
now (I kind of wrecked the other one a little bit, but I contend that
it was the pile of cement’s fault. It practically jumped out and
ripped off my bumper) and the twins had a friend over, so I started out
the door. Kate saw me grab my keys and she started screaming and
begging to come with me. I told her that I was going to see Audrey and
then to the grocery store, and that I didn’t think she would have as
much fun as if she stayed and played with all the girls. She
protested. And then she started putting on her shoes and saying over
and over, “Ona go, momma. Ona go.” When Kate says she “wants to” go,
she is pretty persistent. I didn’t have the strength to fight her, so
I told her she could come. She ran to the playroom and grabbed the back
page of a princess magazine they had been reading, wiped her eyes, and
said “let’s go, momma. I go wif you, just you and kate, momma. just
us, right?”

“Just you and me, Kate. We’re going to go see Audrey.” She climbed in her car seat, clinging on to the magazine page.

The
whole way to the cemetery, I watched her smile in the rear-view mirror.
I love taking each of my girl’s out for “alone time,” because we get
to connect in a different way than when we are all together, and I
think it helps them to know they are each so special to me. Kate
really needs this time, especially lately.

We
got to the cemetery and I grabbed my camera to take pictures so Todd
could see Audrey’s marker. I obliged when Kate asked to take off her
shoes. She loves the feeling of grass in her toes; she is the kind of
kid who wants to “feel” everything fully. She wants to touch the
flowers (pluck mercilessly), sort my purse (turn upside-down and use up
my new lipstick), and to enjoy her food (shove fistfuls of it into her
mouth while closing her eyes and purring “mmm-mmm.”). She doesn’t know
how to do life halfway, and I love that about her.

She
grabbed her little page and started walking around the cemetery with
this big grin. I spent some time talking to Audrey, and then asked her
if she wanted to come over with me (she had discovered the joy of
stealing the little flags from several vases….don’t worry, they have
been returned…).

She looked up at me, confused.

“Ona see Audrey.”

“She’s
right here, honey. They just gave her a special new plaque that tells
about her. It has her name on it.” I ran my fingers along the letters
and she took a step in my direction, then stopped.

(click title for more)

Originally published on Loralee’s Looney Tunes

I visited my son’s grave today.

There was no special reason. No holiday or anniversary. No family or friends that live far away who wanted to pay their respects. I was just driving and saw the snow on the ground and wanted to check on my son, clean up his grave, and remove the decorations that I put up for Autumn.

Matthew is buried in a beautiful spot. We put him next to family, a cousin of Jonathan’s that was killed in a car crash with his grandmother when she was only 19. It makes me feel better that his cousin is close by. I will be buried near him, but not next to him because that space was occupied, which makes me very sad.

It used to make me angry.

The grave right next to my son is occupied by what they call a “Pauper grave”. Meaning, that the plot was donated and the family doesn’t have the resources for a headstone. There is a metal marker that has an index card with typing on it. The womans name has been obliterated. All I know is that death occurred in July of 1998 and that she was only 41 at the time of passing.

In the four years since my Little Bug has passed, my feelings about “Her” have changed. It’s still hard to know that this stranger gets a place that I yearn to have, but instead of being angry, I began to be curious about this neighbor of my son. Who was she? What was she like? Did she have any family?

(click title for more)