The funeral

(originally written 10/09/06)

A couple of weeks before she died, Deb and I discussed that in the event something happened to her, where she would like to be buried.

"I don't know," she answered. "I just know I want to be with you, and I figured you'd want to be buried close to your mother in her family cemetery."

I had never thought about where I was going to end up. I knew I had chosen cremation, but I never thought about what happened next. When Deb said that, it all just made sense. Of course that's where I'm going to be: the small Missouri town where my mother's family came from.

Deb was like that, pointing me in the right direction. She's even pointed me to my final destination.

The day before the funeral, I couldn't resist taking my spot for a test run. I know it's silly, but how many chances do you get to try out your grave spot? For the record, it's very comfortable. A nice grassy spot with a downhill slope. Here's the view looking up from where I'll be:



I figure I should try to appreciate the view now. When I finally get there, I won't be in any condition to appreciate it then.

The funeral was perfect. One of my cousins sang "The Rose," and one of my aunts sang "One Day At A Time." I could imagine Deb wanting to sing along. When it was over I was overwhelmed by the sense that things had come full circle. Most of the same people who were at our wedding two years ago were at the funeral. My uncle who married us now buried one of us. It was not only the end of Deb's journey, it also was the end of my marriage. Another thing to mourn.

Before I left Missouri on Monday, I stopped at Deb's grave and left roses. I talked to her, telling her that I knew it wasn't really goodbye. I know she's watching over me. But it was goodbye to the physical part of her, the part that held me, the part that rested with me at night, the part of her that carried her smile.

I picked up a handful of dirt and put it in a baggie. Then I left.