Category Archives: The Man at the Cemetery

The Man at the Cemetery

Blizzard1_-_NOAA

He’s still there… 

 

The last time I blogged about the man at the cemetery, it was the one year anniversary of the death of his wife.  Then I went on Christmas vacation, so my 4:00 trips past the cemetery leading into town also took a hiatus.  I’ve been working a little later than usual since returning to work in January, so my opportunities to view the cemetery didn’t always fall at the same time my friend would make his daily visits.  However, he’s still there. That fact was made quite clear a couple of days ago as I drove home in blowing snow, the fluffy fat lake effect kind that piles high on everything in which it lands and with wisps to gusts of wind flies wildly in the air and drifts across the road making visibility less than ideal.  I was surprised, and honestly saddened, to view the man at the cemetery standing, as usual, with his head down, hands in his pocket, staring at the headstone for his wife. I was angry. And what right do I have to be angry? It’s not my business how he grieves. Grief is a personal journey, unique to each of us. But I was angry! I wanted to shake him and beg him, “Please, please, stop this. Please go home. Please be warm. Please be safe. Read a book. Call a friend. Take a class. But please stop subjecting yourself to this raw grief day in and day out. Please!“   How very selfish of me. I freely admit it, so no need to tell me that. My heart aches, and my mind does not comprehend. I want “my friend” to find joy again. And seeing him through the freshly falling snow as the wipers of my car worked overtime made my heart break.

 

He’s still there…

The Man at the Cemetery: One Year Anniversary

 

cemetery1

Yesterday was the one year anniversary for “my friend” at the cemetery.  For more observations, click the link at the right.  Since January 2012 I have been watching this young man in his 50s stand before the same grave marker every day at the same time every afternoon as I returned home from work.  Other friends observed him daily very early in the morning, too, often spotted only through the headlights of his car.  He usually stands with his head down, hands shoved in his pocket.  Sometimes he sits upon the deer engraved bench yet another friend anonymously placed there for his comfort.  More often he just stands and stares upon the grave of his wife.  Yesterday was the one year anniversary of his wife’s passing.  I have seen the headstone, though I have never spoken to the man.  As I drove home in the rain and wind yesterday, he was there.  His head was covered with a hood rather than his ball cap, his hands still shoved in his pocket.  But today there was something different….

 

He didn’t look down.  He looked up.  I noticed right away because it was so out of the ordinary.  Usually I can share no new observations.  But today he clearly looked up.  Was he releasing his wife?  Was he making a deal with God?  Will he need to come to the cemetery every day?  Or has he progressed in his grief journey and won’t feel the need to be physically present each day?  I don’t know if he was talking to God or his wife or simply washing his tears with the rain that fell from heaven.  But he looked up…. I hope, with the passing of this most difficult anniversary, that life looks up for “my friend,” too, that the happy memories replace the sad ones.

 

I can’t help but remember another anniversary, too, as but one hour from now is the one week anniversary of the Sandy Hook Elementary School shooting.  One week ago moms and dads kissed their kids and sent them away.  Within a week’s time they have buried their children.  Now they, too, begin their grief journey of firsts.  As I believe my angels speak to me through music, I am currently listening to Whitney Houston’s Greatest Love of All. Her lyrics speak to me today.

 

 

Because the greatest love of all is happening to me
I found the greatest love of all inside of me
The greatest love of all is easy to achieve
Learning to love yourself, it is the greatest love of all

And if by chance that special place
That you’ve been dreaming of
Leads you to a lonely place
Find your strength in love

 

 

I wish for all who suffer this holiday season, that they “find their strength in love.” 

The Man at the Cemetery, His Year of “First” Holidays Comes to a Close

Copyright WilsonEvergreens

I have been observing the man at the cemetery now for nearly ten months.  He’s not there every day now, but he’s there most days.  He stands, hands in his pocket, hat on his head watching the headstone.  Sometimes he sits in the bench that a kind stranger left for him, also concerned for his frequent visits to his wife’s grave.  Today is Thanksgiving.  I didn’t drive by the cemetery today. I was too busy celebrating with my own family.  It was a blessed day indeed.  But I have seen the headstone.  I know the anniversary of this dear man’s loss.  And today, my friends, is the last holiday being celebrated as a “first.”  That is, today is the first Thanksgiving without his wife.  By Christmas, he will have begun the year of seconds.  The “firsts” are the hardest.  I wonder, did he think today upon his last Thanksgiving?  Did he have a joyous day with his wife?  Does he pain in his heart as he relives that last Thanksgiving?

 

Today, in my own joy, I pause to think of those who grieve, whether it be the first Thanksgiving without a loved one, or decades of Thanksgiving’s past.

“It’s the little things in life, you know?”…The Man at the Cemetery Gets a Gift

from Painted Sky Designs

“Can you keep a secret?”  That’s the message that awaited me in my facebook inbox last week.  With the permission of this superperson, I write today’s blog.

 

In my last blog about the man at the cemetery, this is what I shared.  “I turned into the cemetery, driving past the grieving man.  While I didn’t look up when I passed, I did  look as soon as I turned the corner in the cemetery.  He did not follow my car.  It was as if my entry into his cemetery was of no consequence to him.  I observed that his chair was actually a bench, with the design of two deer, probably brought over from another spot in the cemetery.”

 

What I didn’t know at the time was that this bench was not moved from another location in the cemetery.  It was a gift, placed there under the cover of night, by another family who also grieve for the stranger who daily visits the grave of his late wife.  Here is what my facebook message said, “As the weather is getting colder I just wanted him to have somewhere to sit so he wasn’t on the ground cold.  It’s the little things in life, you know?”

 

She’s right.  Her simple gesture, given so freely from a caring heart rising about the restraints of “But I just don’t know what to do,” found something to do.  Something so simple, given without wanting a thanks, without wanting praise.  Something so simple as providing a warm place for the grieving man to sit as he talks to his wife who can no longer comfort her husband after a bad day at work.  I was stunned, honestly, as it sunk in what had been done for this man.  He knew, I am sure, that he was cared for.  He knew in that moment of finding that bench that he wasn’t alone on his journey.  Probably he’ll never talk to this stranger.  Probably he’ll never say thanks.  But he’ll know.  He will know he’s not alone in this world.  Yes, that one simple gesture really mattered.  I see her act as a challenge.  Isn’t there someone in our daily life, a stranger, or most likely someone we know well, who could use a random act of kindness?  Could we smile more?  Could we say, “How is your day?”  Could we stop and really listen? 

 

For it is often the little things in life that mean the most.

 

Fun coincidence, or not?  The etching on the bench of the deer compliments the etching of the nature scene on the headstone…

 

The Man at the Cemetery…Fall Rain and Tears

It is a dreary, rainy day in the Midwest today.  The picture above, taken near my home, shows the changing leaves, cloudy sky, and wet pavement.  I hate the fall.  I truly do.  I dread it every year.  I don’t mean to be a complainer, but it is my reality that in the fall lie the anniversaries of the death of my mom, the death of my dad, the birthday of my mom, and the birthday of my dad.  It is just a season that brings me back to so many unhappy memories in my life:  being stripped away from a church hayrack ride and bonfire to be told of my dad’s accident and being interrupted by the operator on the phone to accept a call from my grandma to tell me of my mom’s death, weeks after the start of the school year.  Plus, though the leaves are pretty and the hot, humid days are past, with the season also come days like today:  dark, dreary, cold, and rainy.

 

As I drove home from work, my “friend” at the cemetery sat in the light drizzle,  head down, toward the headstone of his wife.  I did something today that I have never done.  I turned into the cemetery, driving past the grieving man.  While I didn’t look up when I passed, I did  look as soon as I turned the corner in the cemetery.  He did not follow my car.  It was as if my entry into his cemetery was of no consequence to him.  I observed that his chair was actually a bench, with the design of two deer, probably brought over from another spot in the cemetery.  He stood up, placed his hands in his pocket, and other than rocking gently back and forth, did not wander from his spot in front of the headstone.  Nor did the rain seem to affect him.  He moved to the other side of the headstone and did what it is that only he knows from the other side.  Tell his wife about his day?  Tell her all the things he misses about her?  Tell her about the pain in his heart?  I don’t know.  That is not my business.  I won’t drive by again, quite so close.  I was curious, as I have been observing from afar for months now.  I do have a male friend who has stopped, who has heard the man’s grief story.  I am not going to do that, though I am comforted knowing that someone has.  The one year anniversary of “my friend’s” loss is nearing in December.  As others joyously prepare for the onslaught of holidays that fall on the calendar at the end of the year I wonder if he dreads these “first” holidays or eagerly awaits their arrival, knowing that the year of “firsts” is almost through.  I wonder…

 

So, for those of you that love fall, I am happy that you can receive joy in the beauty of the season.  I certainly see the joy in the eyes of my children playing football or apple picking or heading back to school.  But on some days I also feel every drop of rain as if each is a fresh tear reminding me, just reminding me.  And it is okay to be reminded…

The Man at the Cemetery…Continued

As many of you know I work in the school system, so during the summers my schedule is not determined by a clock.  (I know I am very lucky.) So, I did not pass by the cemetery at the edge of town every day at 4:00 as I had done during the school year.  I did not pass the man at the cemetery who, every day, would visit the grave of his deceased wife. I am back to school now, so I thought you might like an update…..

 

He is still there. 

 

For a refresher, please refer to these previous blog links:


http://marcyblesy.com/2012/03/29/my-friend-at-the-cemetery-and-baseball-will-he-make-it-to-home-plate/


http://marcyblesy.com/2012/03/12/while-life-goes-whizzing-by-for-one-man-it-stands-still/

 

Every day when I round a bend in the road I look south and view the shiny red car that sits along the path at the cemetery.  This week I have observed him sitting and standing.  Usually he is looking at the ground or upon the headstone, I imagine communicating with his wife, whether verbally or within the confines of his mind.  For the first time this week I saw him stand and look upon the headstone from the other side as if reading the information printed upon the marker.  To think at the end of a person’s life, the marking upon a headstone so impersonally decribes a person’s life with little more than the name, birthday, and death day.  I wonder if that’s what he was thinking, too.  “She was so much more than a name and date.  She was a living being, beautiful, and loving- someone who shared her life with me, someone I miss, so badly that I need to come tell her every day.“

 

It saddens my heart, but it is not my place to judge how another grieves.  I just hope he finds comfort in his visits.  Say a little prayer for the man at the cemetery today and all others who live their grief journeys daily.

The Man at the Cemetery: An Update

It’s been three days in a row now with temperatures reaching 100 degrees in the Midwest.  Yet he still goes….

 

I work in the schools, so I have my summers off.  I no longer travel by the cemetery every day at 4:00, the time the man at the cemetery would be there, day in and out, no matter the weather.  Yet a few days ago I traveled that route and found my friend at the cemetery sitting on the ground wearing what appeared to be his normal attire:  hat, button down shirt, and denim, perhaps jeans.  Yes, during the hottest time of the day he was still there, visiting with his wife who no longer lives.

 

I have not blogged about the man at the cemetery for quite some time. I made no new observations.  He was still just another person in a sea of people who go through the motions of their day grieving while those around him are oblivious to the churning tide of emotions within his soul.  I have been asked by several people, though, if I have any more information on the man at the cemetery.  They, too, whether through their own observations or through my blog, have come to ponder on his life and the wellness of his heart.  I do have more information, but I will be respectful of the information that I have.  I have done a google search of the name on the tombstone.  For myself, I wanted to know the connection he so obviously shared with the person he visited every day.  It is amazing and frightening what one can discover with google.  It was his wife.  It was possibly a remarriage.  She died too soon.

 

But there is more…  I have a friend who felt compelled to stop and speak with the man at the cemetery.   Separate from my observations, he’d also pondered about the condition of the man who rarely missed a day, or multiple times a day, visiting with his departed wife.  What I can’t tell you is the nature of those conversations.  My friend asked that I honor the privacy of this man and his story.  It may seem conflicting that I would blog so openly about my observations yet not share information that you would probably want to know, right?  We all slow down on the interstate to watch the effects of a car accident, right?  We turn to CNN for every word after a national tragedy.  It’s only natural to want to know the nature of every bit of the conversations between my friend and the man at the cemetery.  But I can’t.  While he shared surface details with me, I stopped myself from asking more of the questions that I wanted answers to.  You see, it’s not my story.  It’s his story.  The fact that he was willing to share with my friend gives me comfort that he can at least tell his story, which not everyone can.  But it’s not my place to share the intimate details of his story.  So, I have nothing new to add to the story of the man at the cemetery.  I am sorry, but I hope you understand.  He is still there.  He still grieves.  His story still breathes life, continuing the grieving process.

 

One take-away I get from this story, and its many parts, is that no matter what craziness is going on in my life, the go-go-go of my children’s activities, my friend/family/work commitments, the calendar that doesn’t seem to have room for one more thing. This I know is true:  That person next to me on the bleachers at a game.  That woman at the stoplight who won’t go the second the light turns green.  That friend who won’t answer my calls. They all have a story, and maybe I can try to be a little more empathetic and not so quick to judge.  Everyone has a story….