Let in the Light

The image shocked me and tested my emotional strength far too soon from the already traumatic, already heartbreaking previous weeks. I really wasn't up for another surprise, no matter how big or small. I've debated whether I should or ever could write about it, and for a couple of months I haven't. Time and distance from that moment has softened the edges...

It was Sunday July 13^th. I'd packed the car of my belongings, loaded up the kitties, said goodbye to Diane and Dad, and headed out of Stillwater towards Maryland. Before leaving, I paid a visit to Mom's gravesite - my first visit alone.

Torrential downpours from the night before left our little city a soggy mess, making our town's name - Stillwater - seem more ironic. Sure enough, there was still water left; the car tires splashed through stagnant puddles as I slowly drove near her site.

Truth be told, I don't do very well with burials and gravesites, especially when it's my Mom's (not that many would be successful in Pollyanna's "Glad Games" so quickly after their mother's passing and burial). I could already feel the emotions building in my chest and throat as the car came to a stop. I took a deep breath and squinted to my right to visualize her plot. From a distance, I could already tell that the stormy winds were unkind to her temporary marker. It lay flat in the rain soaked mud. Despite the shock of seeing the small placard on its side, I felt proud that I could do something for her even if it meant simply cleaning and righting her marker. I stepped out and made my way to her site. As I grew closer, I noticed something even more horrifying than her disturbed marker - her disturbed grave.

Freshly moved earth, when saturated by a torrent of rain, has a tendency to shift and concave. It had not been but a little more than a week since Mom's funeral, and her site had not yet settled before receiving its first rain.  As I approached, I could see that the upper left hand corner of her site was as empty as the hole in my heart. A two foot long by 4 inch wide darkened pit showed where the dirt caved under the weight of the pooling water. I was scared shitless to peak in, but knew I had to. I dusted off her marker and jammed it firmly into the ground before stepping towards the pit. Fortunately, the dirt only fell two feet before holding its own. By that point, I was talking with her like we were both peering in, assessing the damage. I remember saying aloud, "OK. Nothing we can't deal with. I'll get this taken care of, Mom."

The site was filled a few days later.

The disturbing visual haunted me for several days. As shocking and traumatic as it was to see my mom's recently established gravesite disturbed in such a manner, I realize in the end that it was merely an unfortunate product of a natural process. As much as it's a comfort thought to me, I could hear mom saying, "Oooh, let's pull the drapes and let the sunlight in", as she would say when we were young. Maybe, this was a way of letting in the light. ~E