Visiting hours are over

"Hi! I'm going to the cemetery to sit and look at my wife and daughter's headstones and cry. Would you like to come with me?" Sounds strange doesn't it? Is it no wonder why I have never uttered those words to anyone. The only person I ever asked to go to the cemetery with me was my wife. It was different then. Not now. No, I love my friends too much to ask that of them. 

I am blessed with several friends who have come to town and asked me if they could go out there with me. And, almost without fail, I have gone. And I know that several of my friends and my family have gone on their own. It would also appear that I have Jewish friends that occasionally visited my Beth's site. And, while the stones they place there last longer than any flowers, even they find their way to the ground and are eventually removed by the grounds crew. 

Our little corner of the cemetery has quickly filled up. But my choice of visiting time is still not usually overly crowded so it does afford me some privacy. So today I went. It was so pretty outside. The temperature was perfect. I began to remember that Monday afternoon when my pastor and I walked from the hospital for the last time. I had given the doctors permission to withdraw life support. The sun was shining. Birds were chirping (I imagine). People were laughing, smiling and going on with their lives. Much the same way when my wife and I walked away from that same hospital having made the exact same decision when our daughter passed. 

It's not supposed to be that way. It's supposed to be grey and gloomy. It's supposed to be raining as if heaven itself was weeping. There are supposed to be no other cars moving on the road and people are supposed to be standing around wearing black while protecting themselves from the heavenly tears with oversized ebony umbrellas. People are supposed to have their heads lowered, shoulders slumped with the weight of your grief. But it doesn't work that way. Life goes on. Even my own. There were work demands (it was payroll Monday after all and employees like it when you pay them), and there were life demands (someone has to put gas in the truck after driving back and forth to the hospital the week before).

I may never invite you to join me at the cemetery. I may never want to bring grey to your sunny day. But it doesn't mean that I don't appreciate your thoughts and prayers when I make my visits. And when I take my place beside my family in the future I won't even ask you to go then. But I will appreciate it when you do.