First up is an old Centre College pal who I met in 1998 and have kept in touch with over the years. Although he went to school in Metcalfe County, we didn't meet until college. He was in a band. He drove a green El Camino. He was hilarious. In short, he was far cooler than me. Shaun now lives in Tennessee with his wonderful wife and precious daughter and is a public school teacher.
Confessions of a Reluctant Grave Digger
by Shaun C. Smith
in loving memory of Loette Smith
I was sitting in the backseat of my
parents' car with my hand on the door handle. I knew when I opened the door I
would once again be bombarded with the onrush of summerhot Texas air into the
for-the-last-second-cool cabin of the car. We had driven into the dusty grave
yard accompanied by a few other cars bearing assorted family members. I had
been looking forward to Grandma's service for the chance we would all have at
emotional release, but had started to dread it due to the finality it brought
with it. It didn't help that the graveyard was quite a bit older, not one of
those fancy new grave yards they have these days with well-manicured lawns,
flower maintenance/management programs, and markers that have been kept neat
and straight since day one. Many of the markers were care of Modern Woodmen of
the World and gave the grounds the look and feel of a petrified forest (you may
want to look that up if you haven't seen a field full of Modern Woodmen of the
World markers, pretty impressive stuff). Either way, I knew the first thing I
would do after catching my breath from the barrage of hot that would attack my
face and person the moment I exited the vehicle would be to find the pastor or
preacher in charge and follow his lead.
Grandma was from Texas. She
married Grandpa in Louisiana. They moved to the San Francisco Bay Area of
California. Grandpa died out there in the 1980s. He was cremated and his ashes
were scattered on the Bay. Toward the end of her life, Grandma moved to
Kentucky so my Dad could help take care of her. It wasn't too long before she
started having mini-strokes and started falling. It was a fairly quick decline
and rather tragic. I got to tell her good-bye and rub her feet for her one more
time, I hope she heard me and knew it was me. It happened in February or one of
those months before or after. She was cremated.
Grandma loved her father and her
step-mother. In fact, her wishes were to have her ashes interred alongside
them. They are both buried in Eustace, Texas. Good luck finding that on a map,
but I'm sure if you looked hard enough, you would find it eventually. Grandpa,
at one point, ran his own newspaper there and my Dad was born there (at home,
not in the hospital) and eventually, Grandma would return there indefinitely.
When Grandma passed away, we
knew she was going to be cremated, so there was no rush to have a funeral.
Because her wishes involved interment in a different time zone, and because
ashes don't decompose we decided to wait until we would be headed to Texas for
our family reunion later that summer. Waiting for the family reunion made it
convenient for everyone to be there. Considering the vast majority of mourners
were also on the family reunion invitation list, it just made sense. I took a
lot of comfort in waiting for summer, I also figured it gave my parents enough
time to get the service planned and make all the necessary arrangements over
the phone or by email. One of the things I was most excited about in regards to
waiting for the reunion was the chance to spend some time with my cousin, who
is really more like a sister. I knew I would be able to help comfort her as she
had spent several years living with Grandma and had been incredibly close to
her.
My Mom, Dad, and I left from
Bowling Green, Kentucky late one night in their car, along with a puppy (long
story). We were leaving at night because I had always been able to drive
through the night and figured it would be a great way to give my parents the
chance to sleep in the car and arrive somewhat rested in the morning. Around
about Jackson, Tennessee, I learned that a lot had changed in the past few
years and night driving was no longer my friend. My Dad couldn't sleep because
he wanted to make sure I was awake. When I realized that I had some
"staying awake" concerns, he took over for me so I could sleep. I
soon realized that I couldn't sleep because I wanted to stay awake to make sure
my Dad could stay awake. It was a Catch 22 of sorts. I suppose the smart move
would have been to get a hotel room, sleep, and then wake up early, but we had
places to be in the morning. So, the rest of the night went on in endless,
startled awakeness with all of the bleary eyed terror that accompanies one of
those through-the-night-but-no-one-really-wants-to-be-awake-and-in-a-car rides.
Upon our arrival, we became
nomads in search of place to rest. We sought refuge first at our hotel, booked
for the night, but were laughed at for our request for an early check in (at
7:00 am). We headed to my Dad's cousin's house. She said we could let ourselves
in, but she was going to a doctor's appointment. It was another lengthy drive
on top of the incredible sojourn we had just completed, but we had a breakfast
in us and the sun was out. We made it, found our way in, and instinctively
found the softest surfaces we could find, faceplanted and passed out.
Upon awakening, the reuniting
began as my Uncle and his family had also arrived. As he was my Dad's only
brother, this was an "immediate" family reunion of sorts. From that
point forward, the service was the farthest thing from the forefront of my
mind. We eventually made it back to the hotel and got in our rooms. Some of us
went to sleep; some of us went out to eat. The next morning found us all fairly
well rested and happy to be together as a family. We ate breakfast before we
left to go the "not-so-immediate" family reunion.
It was hot; we reunited. At a
certain point in the day, those that wished to pay their respects to Grandma
started doing that thing where you have to do something and you don't really
want to do it, but you know you have to do it, so you look at someone who must
also do that thing you know you have to do, but don't really want to do and
make that face that says, "I don't really want to do this, but I know I
have to do it," and then actually physically speak the word,
"well," which is understood by the second person as a sign that we
now must collectively gather the others who have to go do the thing they don't
really want to do, but have to do and then tell them that the time has arrived
for doing the thing that we all have to do, but we don't really want to go do.
Of course, not to say that nobody wanted to do it, it was just a somber
occasion. Sure, if we'd all had our druthers, Grandma would have been at the
reunion with us. The fact of the matter was that she wasn't with us and we had
to get to the service.
So we drove out there. It took
about an hour to get there and I remember at some point, my Dad said,
"This is Eustace." I looked up and saw a wide spot in the road with a
police station on the left and a cemetery on the right. We turned right and
pulled into the cemetery. I remember being somewhat surprised that no one was
there to meet us. I made it a point to look immediately for the person in
charge of the service when I got out of my parents' car.
People were getting out of their
cars and I figured I needed to join them. My Dad made his way to the trunk as I
got adjusted to the blast furnace heat. I hoped for a nice breeze, but I hadn't
felt one since we'd crossed the border the day before. My Dad called me over to
the trunk and handed me something. It was a shovel.
"What's
this for?" I asked.
"To dig
the hole."
"What
hole?"
"The
hole for the ashes."
"Where
are the ashes?"
"Here,"
he handed me a box.
I suddenly
understood the definition of "aghast". All this time, we'd been
driving state to state, through the night, reuniting with family, cousin’s
house sleeping, bed crashing, breakfast eating, and puppy delivering (again,
long story) all with the intent of holding a service for Grandma and all the
while, her ashes (and the shovel that would dig the hole in which to place
them) had been riding along with us in the trunk.
"Dad,"
I asked, aghast, "who's going to dig the hole?"
"You
are," he answered matter of factly, as if I had stopped paying attention
during that part of the conversation we had never had in which we discussed the
plans for the service.
"Who's
going to do the service?"
"We are,"
he answered matter of factly, as if I had stopped paying attention during that
part of the conversation we (again) had never had in which we discussed the
plans for the service.
"Dad,
there's a police station right across the street! I think this is illegal!"
I countered, once again, aghast.
"Well,
we'll just form a wall between you and the police station. The hole doesn't
have to be that big, you know." He did have a point there.
And so, as
my immediate and not-so-immediate family formed a wall between me, my shovel,
and my Grandma's ashes, some Bible verses were read, some prayers were prayed,
some tears were shed, and then, I dug a small hole between the graves of my
Great-Grandfather and Step-Great-Grandmother. When I was done, it was time to
lay Grandma to rest. As I turned the bag of ashes over to return ash to dust, I
got my breeze. Of course, my back was to my family, so no one noticed. My
cousin brought me the small marker that had been made so I could put it into
place. "What's on your shirt?" she asked through what had just been
heavy tears.
"Grandma."
I answered, with what should have been a stronger variation of aghastness. But
oddly, I was no longer aghast. I was actually comforted by what I had just done
and although I was a bit unsure of what to do with Grandma's ashes that covered
the front of my shirt, my cousin and I leaned down and placed the marker over
the ashes that had made it into the ground. When we stood back up, my cousin
helped my brush off the front of my shirt. The not so immediate family slowly
took off and the immediates stayed back to say good bye to each other and
eventually, we left to drive back to Kentucky.
I realized on the ride home,
that I had been very fortunate to have the experience I had just had. Not many
people get to literally bury someone they love these days with a day's worth of
labor or heavy machinery. It was fast and simple, but a very tangible act of
love that left me with a different view of death. Death is not just an end, but
also an opportunity to quantify your feelings for someone. These days, people
show their love in a time of death by pouring money into things that will be seen
for hours at best, then buried forever. What an incredible honor it was to bury
my Grandmother, by hand, in front of my family. The experience, although it
caught me off guard, has been one of the most enlightening and spiritual I have
ever had. It was an incredible chance to do just one more act of love for her. I
can only hope that when my time comes, I'm surrounded by family and friends
that would be willing to drive 700 or so
miles only to form a human barricade between a graveyard and a police station
just so they can lay me to rest. Of course, I hope that isn't necessary for a
very long time.
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