Till death do us part
My fear of death comes in waves. The first wave makes all the lights go out, but the darkness isn’t Heaven or Hell. No one can see me, but my soul remains floating in nothingness. The worst part is that it’s not even a “she’ll always be with us, it’s okay,” type of presence. It’s just darkness.
I’ve also imagined the opposite. The second wave keeps the lights on. It actually gets brighter. It’s how my pastor describes Heaven. But even in the Bible’s perfect image, it still scares me. Questions shoot into my mind. What would I do up there? Is Heaven even “up there”? How will my family grieve me? What if I didn’t live a pure enough life and forgiveness is beyond His reach?
I have no idea what death will bring. I fear how my family and friends will cope. Does anyone grieve well? I know I don’t. I can’t even drive past my uncle’s exit on the highway without bursting into tears and pulling over. I once imagined him letting out a chuckle, saying “Oh Sophie, it’ll get better. Don’t you worry.” And still he is not in the car with me.
About two years later, this previous Saturday to be exact, I went to the Fort Myers Cemetery. Even though none of my loved ones were buried there I still felt their presence. I missed the turn twice and wasn’t sure if it was my nerves or the fact that I’ve only had a car for five months now. Nonetheless I saw the two signs and thin road for cars to enter. I parked and started walking alongside the trees, graves, tombstones and mausoleums.
There were no visitors at first. It was just me, the silence and breeze of the cold front that just came in. The silence was surprisingly comfortable. It was peaceful and still. Nothing like a funeral, which I’ve found to be the loudest silence I’ve ever prayed in.
The light rain cooled the earth that the gravestones were one with. The water droplets brought liveliness to the weariness. I took time to read some of the writing of names and years to calculate ages. There were a lot of children buried. When will my expiration date be?
I didn’t expect myself to stay long, but before I knew it it had almost been an hour and I was still calm. There was a little dock and lake with benches around it. It was old and beautiful.
I turned a corner and walked by a certain grave that caught my attention. It was full of spiritual and religious figurines and flowers. Some items were upright and some had fallen. A stormy night had probably tipped them over. I knelt down slowly as if the person’s whole family was there watching my every move. With my help, the fallen items had risen as I hope to one day. Rise.
It brought me peace. It made me think that maybe there is a young girl on a walk adjusting the figurines and flowers on my beloved uncle’s grave. Maybe the flowers are freshly placed each week by his family and friends that live near and far. Maybe he’s always one prayer away. Maybe I shouldn’t spend precious moments of my life fearing death if the very place where the dead lay is this peaceful.
On my way home I phoned a friend who had taken the course Death and Dying. She remembered going to her father’s funeral about five years ago and fearing his cemetery. The course helped teach her about death, how it is viewed differently in various cultures and even about hospice care.
“As for the cemetery, I remember going for the first time in 2016. I was nervous to go, but when I went it was peaceful, and I felt that seeing it in person helped me begin to accept his death,” said Melissa.
She hopes to visit her father when she’s home for the holidays and decorate his grave with a Christmas tree. Just like myself, she thinks death is inevitable. We can worry and wonder what our last day on Earth will bring, or we can enjoy the life we are living. As for dealing with the death of loved ones… no one grieves the same.
Just minutes before leaving the cemetery I saw someone had a visitor. An older man parked close to the entrance and walked all the way down to the end of the plot. He had on what looked like Sunday church attire and held a bouquet of roses. He walked slowly with intention. He then sat on the bench facing a mausoleum and began talking. I felt relief.
Cemeteries were no longer what I imagined them to be. It’s a place where you can catch up with those who are no longer here beside you. It’s a place where people pay their respects. It’s a place to take walks and adjust the angel figurines to face upward towards what we all deep down hope is the Heaven that all the pastors speak of.
