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| She loved animals. Fitting the cemetery is across the street from a pet cemetery. |
Yesterday was the funeral. After my long rant about funeral
homes, I decided that I could and would skip going. I’m not sure if a stranger
or even a loved one can reveal anything about one’s own friend during the
service inside the funeral home, and I knew that I would be so distracted about
all that I loathed that it wouldn’t penetrate me anyhow. Instead, I opted to go
straight to the cemetery which happily is across the street from a pet cemetery. Graveside seems more honest. Some might give me the
stink eye or say that I was obligated to go to pay my respects to the family; after
all, I am culturally Southern but I’ve made peace with my decision. For me, it
was right.
Today I decided to call out of a meeting for work. I’m not
going into the office daily during the summer but today (and tomorrow) this
week I have scheduled meetings. I was initially annoyed that when I called out
of today’s meeting, my colleagues asked if I would be in tomorrow and could we
postpone until then. I’ll go back on Wednesday. The Victorians had weeks and
weeks of respected absence from work and social events depending on how close
one was to the loved one. I suppose by today’s standards, I have two days. Or
at least I forced two days. Perhaps if she were a parent or a child others
would respect my grieving period.
I did do some work from home. Really, I’m just not up to
being around a large group of people. I don’t want the questions “how” because
the answer isn’t pretty. The answers never are but this type of death leads to
follow up questions that inquire “why” and more “how’s” and while it isn’t
anyone’s business (it isn’t any of my business), it is human to wonder.
Much of my day was headed to Olivet Cemetery in New Kent,
Virginia. One of my very best friends, who was really more like my sister, is buried
here with her husband. She died just shy of turning 30. She would then correct
me and say that she died in April and her birthday is in February and in no way
was she even close to 30; but to me who celebrated nearly every childhood
birthday together (having our birthdays two weeks apart), she was almost 30.
The almost matters because unlike some who grumble about their birthdays, I
toast each year that I *made it*. I have outlived 17, 18, 17, 17, 19 and 29.
Now I have outlived 38. It’s always sad that my friends could see another year.
What if they could have lived to 18 or 19 or 20 or 30… wouldn’t an additional
year have mattered? I am fortunate not to suffer from the level of chemical
imbalance one must have to take one’s own life. I have loved ones who fight
this; and, I have loved ones who lost their fights.
Olivet Cemetery is creepy and it has always been creepy to
me. New Kent County, the tiny place East of Richmond, VA and West of
Williamsburg, VA was the birth home of our first U.S. President’s wife, Martha
Washington. The graveyard (I’m using the
technical term since a graveyard adjoins a church and a cemetery does not) is
off a winding back road. There is hardly a gravel parking lot. I mostly noticed
dirt. On the property, there are large Oak trees stretching out toward the heavens,
and there is woods surrounding what must be less than an acre. Built in 1856, Olivet Presbyterian Church is
on the National Registry of Historic Places. It is a small frame church
building in the Greek Revival style. It features four fluted Greek Doric columns.
It would be perfectly charming if it weren’t in the middle of nowhere, and I
weren’t alone. There used to be an old shed or outhouse on the property. I
always felt like someone was watching me before it was torn down.
While there I put flowers on her “Poppy’s” grave. Her father
passed away six years after she was killed in a freak boating accident; like my
friend, he passed before his time and was not yet 60. His funeral saved my
life. It’s odd to think back on it but I was sitting in the church where I had
buried her, where I had been in her wedding, where I had sat beside her during
church as children, and this preacher who didn’t know me or even my friend
(because he was a new pastor to the congregation) gave a sermon where he
repeated, "Don't fake your life". I’m Catholic so maybe it was the rhythmic
preaching or the repetition of his words that touched me because it felt so
different from a homily but I truly believe that that message was directed to
me… and most likely the one who was channeling the message was my late friend.
I went home that afternoon and confronted my now ex-husband about our sham of a
marriage. There were so many things that were wrong and I was so unhappy. Poppy’s
funeral opened my eyes. My friend had always been the one who helped me see
what was honest and true. She was doing that again even from beyond.
They have a directory. It's weird to
see my friend’s name listed.
I had blue flowers because they were her favorite color. The
blue dye got all over my hands. The whole adventure there was a mess and I felt
like if I really listened I could hear her giggle.
Olivet Church is in the middle of nowhere. There's nothing
around it but woods. I swear I can always hear something. Today while there, I
sent another friend a text saying that the place was creepy. She responded, “When
a girl who loves cemeteries thinks it’s creepy, it is!”
The term "dog days of summer” dates back to the ancient Romans who noticed that Sirius, the major star of the "Big Dog" constellation, rose with the sun from July to August. Sirius is the brightest star in the nighttime sky. The Romans assumed that the sun and the star were in an alliance to create the "days of great heat." Katz notes that animals on his farm share an interesting way of accepting the heat by gathering together in the shade and not moving which is a departure from humans in the United States, who just go about their busy lives. (Dog Days, Jon Katz). 
But y’all, I’m Southern; and, we do slowdown in the summertime. In fact, it’s therapy-approved for me considering my therapist thought I needed to literally stop and smell the roses… one of the many reasons I became a gardener. I am still very active in the summer and I like to think that I do embrace the summer heat. Without the heat and the sun, I wouldn't have such beautiful flowers including the lovely hibiscus I've included in this post. And to have such flowers, I have to prune, prune, prune which means I'm outside pretty often. 
Summer is going by too fast! I’m trying to hang on just like this morning’s Morning Glory bloom. 
