“Oh, Len, come down, and meet at the burial ground. They’ve undid the aerial, tore down the merry-go-round. This world’s all wrong, so let’s go where we belong. Pack up the stereo, meet at the burial ground.” This song came out earlier this year I think, at least that’s when I first heard it. I liked it. Little did I know the type of meaning it would soon have to me…
I started the day, early, taking a hot shower, playing my funeral soundtrack. Yeah, I have a list of songs that I want to be played at my funeral, and, since a piece of me died when my Mom passed, I felt it was appropriate to listen to them on this morning. This Burial Ground song by the Decemberists rose to the top recently; I listened to that, a few times on this day. I like Dog Days Are Over by Florence and the Machine; that one feels right. Of course, Blackbird by the Beatles; that was my original request for the day I die. Another recent addition.. As It Was by Harry Styles, yeah, go figure… a song that was a big hit that I didn’t even realize existed until way later. At this point, pretty much any song that I like, any song that I can sing the words to, gets me emotional. If you can believe it, Only the Good Die Young by Billy Joel came on the radio as we drove to see my Mom for the last time on this Friday morning; I almost pulled over.
The last day is the worst. I know my Mom was already gone, and not actually sitting in that casket, but yes, she was there, sitting in that casket. This would be the day that we’d close that casket, for good, never to see my Mom again. As I walked by for the last time, I went in for a big hug; whenever I’d see my Mom, I’d give her a kiss and hug. This final hug… it was painful; I felt a pain deep inside of me… a sadness, to my core. I had to get it together pretty quickly to help carry my Mom into the hearse, then into the church, then back into the hearse, then up the hill in the cemetery. I think, how many times my Mom carried me… Here was the person responsible for my entrance into this world; no offense Dad… I know, it takes two. Still, this person whose stomach I resided in for 9 months, my Mom… was, gone.
As we stood at the graveside, we watched them lower her into the vault, watched them close the vault, and then watched a truck back up and dump dirt on top of the vault. After a few minutes, my Dad said he was done, and I walked him to the car; my son was with us. Like my Dad, he said “why are we going out for lunch afterwards… it doesn’t make any sense”. I told him it was to celebrate Grandma’s life. I don’t think anybody, especially my Dad, was in the mood to celebrate anything. I’ve had my share of sad days, but if I was to rank them, this would come out on top.
“Eternal rest grant unto her, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon her.” Love you Mom.
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