We just arrived home from placing wreaths on Justin’s, Mom and Dad’s, and Vincent’s graves.
We had picked up three beautiful wreaths at the Christmas Tree farm to place on Justin’s, Mom and Dad’s, and Vincent’s graves. They were so fresh and fragrant, we stacked them in the van until we had a minute to make a proper visit to the graves. We also needed to pick up some of the grave easels, shorter ones, would mean a trip to A.C. Moore or some such store…did not think it would be a difficult task to find the easels…hah.
So about 5 PM Sunday evening we trot off to Frederick to purchase some easels for the grave wreaths. Could not believe how many cars were on the road, how many people were out and about in the stores. We got to A.C. Moore and I blaze a path to where they keep the floral supplies and was greeted by empty racks…nothing…just empty metal racks with a little sticker that said grave easels, how do you run out of grave easels by December 4th? The place looked like the North Pole threw up in it, and no grave easels. I can handle big stuff, its the little irritations that make me want to take a baseball bat to their display. Doug had a better idea, he suggested we schlep over to Michael’s, another craft store on the other side of town. So off we go to another emporium of glittered reindeer…and don’t you know it, empty racks…empty shelves where they would have had their grave easels. Perhaps you are saying to yourself…well now, it is really no big deal. But don’t you see?…it is. When you attempt to do something simple for your dead child and are frustrated, it sucks what little life you had in you. You feel submerged in defeat and failure…and guilt…you aren’t even able to dress their grave properly. Not only could I not save him somehow from drowning, but now I can’t even get a simple wreath on his grave. Extreme? Irrational? Not for a grieving parent.
Doug suggests Walmart…eewww Walmart. But I follow his lead, hoping it was Divine Inspiration that was prompting him to Walmart. By now it is going on 6 PM, dark as dark can be…crowded parking lot, we slip in the garden entrance and duck down a aisle of out of season summer gardening stuff hoping to dodge the crowd picking over Christmas lights. Don’t you know, there sitting on a shelf were little black wrought iron fence pieces….maybe 18 inches high…22 inches long…with a criss-cross pattern…longish stakes to go into the ground…these could work. We pick up three of them and try to find the craft supplies in the super-sized store…found what I grew up calling “pipe cleaners”…now they were titled “fuzzy sticks”…whatever, we used them by the hundreds at the florist shop I worked at for many years.
So back in the car and I hazard the question of when should we dress the graves? I don’t get to see Doug very much at all and the few hours we have on Sundays are precious, but now it is quite dark and a busy week looms ahead of us. I don’t want to dress Justin’s grave alone without Doug. I ask Doug…is it too dark to go now, can we go to the cemetery now? Sure he says…what not? Okay then, lets go. I always have a knife on me, one never knows when one may need a knife, so I start affixing the wreaths to the little fence pieces. One at a time I rest the wreath in my lap, while Doug drives, and used the pipe cleaners to tie the wreath to the fence, worked like a charm. I thanked God for the experience of working with a master designer and florist who helped me to learn to think outside of the box, to see the possibilities…use what you have, make it work. I thank God for Doug who has never succumbed to thinking inside a box and is perfectly at ease with pine needles blanketing the car as I work. I thank God for swift fingers that seem to know what they are about and I am able to complete all three wreaths before arriving at the cemetery.
There is no strangeness or fear as we wind our way up the dark driveway. There is nothing but peace in that hallowed place. We stop at Mom and Dad’s and Vincent’s graves first and then drive up to Justin’s. Doug has a flashlight, but we both can walk the little path to where he rests…it is a familiar walk…but never any easier. We place the wreath, it is still so discordant, how can that sweet boy lie beneath our feet?
It was so strange to be in the stores…such noise and activity…it is so odd. What if we should have run in to someone we knew in the stores? You have to engage in the usual pleasantries and the inevitable question..”Are you Christmas shopping?”….well, sorta…no, not really. Just out looking for an easel for Justin’s grave…not a great conversation entry. You learn to focus on what you need, you keep your head tucked down, you don’t seek to engage. To speak sometimes of the newness of the tasks we now attend to, of how we spend an evening…it is too hard to put into words. It can feel like a great vise has gripped your head and just continues to apply pressure and there is no release, no stopping its grip. Your brain is numb, unable to process anymore.
We have a quiet ride home, the stars are out, we pass by the same Christmas light displays that we used to drive by when the boys were small and we would go for a drive to see the lights. I am glad we took those little rides, little moments and memories frozen in time.
Say a prayer for us Justin, we miss you so very, very much. Love you forever.
Thank you for sharing.