Dealing With Dead People
What am I to do with them?
I received a text message last week from my older sister who wanted to know if I would chip in on flowers for my mom and dad’s grave. It’s Spring, and every year since my mom died in 1992, we have put flowers on the grave. My dad died in 2005, and they are buried together in a small cemetery just outside of my hometown in northern Wisconsin, about four hours north of where I live.
I said I would be glad to, though in the back of my mind, I can still hear Mom telling us if we want to get her flowers, we should do it when she’s alive and not wait until after she’s dead. I think I do it more to make my sister feel good than out of any sense of duty to my mom and dad. My parents don’t know there are flowers on their grave, and I am sure most people driving through the cemetery don’t notice either. Some might say it’s a sign of respect. I suppose it is, sort of.
It’s a curious ritual.
Dead people present a problem for me, and I suspect for a lot of other people too. They go away, but they don’t really go away. I know a lot of dead people. It feels funny to say that though. Is it better to say I used to know a lot of dead people? That doesn’t sound quite right either.
One thing I’ve noticed about dead people is that the older you get, the more of them there are…
