Tag: Grief

It’s there… the stone, a permanent reminder of a wonderful life lived. I hope he’s pleased with how it looks.

We had selected our cemetery plots before Mike passed but hadn’t decided on a headstone. The only thing I knew he wanted was that it should be GREEN! We naturally thought of the greenish tints of Ireland’s Conemara marble but were advised that marble wouldn’t stand the test of time. So that decision was pushed to the back burner. Now I was faced with the task.

The green stone (which doesn’t show up very well in this photo) came about by chance. The local funeral director knew of our thoughts, so a few days after the funeral she called to ask if I still wanted green. It seemed that the owner of an area monument company had picked out a stone that he loved and was holding it for the day he needed it for himself. But being a good business man, he was willing to relinquish it.

Even though the stone was available, the design and ultimate etching took a while so a temporary marker and my granddaughters’ art work marked the spot.

As for designing the stone, that can be a very personal decision and the choices vary widely, from very simple to most elaborate. Also what is actually put on the stone can vary. Birth and death details for sure, but often quotes, photos, sketches and more.

In my brief research, I saw many alternatives, starting with the local cemetery where our stone is placed. The cemetery dates back to the early 1800’s and most of the markers are very traditional. But I noticed that over the years the stone design became more elaborate. There with sketches denoting hobbies or professions. Farming was common with a sketch of a barn or a tractor. There’s even a photo of a bull because the family raised cattle. Military service is often recognized with a bronze plaque usually put on the back of the stone, as is the case with Mike’s stone.

In our travels to Ireland, Mike and I saw many cemeteries with the Celtic cross. The stones and crypts in New Orleans are unique unto themselves, and for some reason, I took a lot of photos when we once visited there. An online search revealed some charming and even some very funny last remarks etched on headstones.

Back here at home, after some pondering and discussions with our daughters, I opted for simple. Family is center stage for us so I made sure we were all included — daughters and grandchildren. A Celtic knot recognizes our 52 years of marriage. On the backside, a small shamrock for the Irish heritage and a bronze plaque recognizing Mike’s military service. In our case, less is more. I think he’d agree.

The whole process has made me think about gravestones and the value we place on them. Obviously, it’s a tangible reminder, a location for the coffin or urn and a marker for anyone searching graves and ancestry for whatever reason. We also have a time honored tradition of decorating the graves on Memorial Day. My mother, and many of her generation, was adamant about decorating the graves. However, I’ve seen that emphasis wane over the years, and I don’t think younger generations will place as much importance on the process. But our Sullivan marker is in place for the long haul.

And so I wondered about that last week as we took Mike’s brother’s ashes to sea in the San Diego harbor. No opportunity for markers there, but interestingly enough, the company handling the excursion gave us a paper that marked the longitude and latitude where we dropped the “pillow.” Yes, we didn’t scatter the ashes. That was not recommended in the event a gust of wind might send the ashes back in our faces. So a biodegradable pillow holding Dave’s ashes was laid gently on the water. It was an appropriate repose for a captain who spent over 40 years on the sea.

But here, in the Sunset Cemetery, a headstone marks where Mike’s ashes are buried. Maybe many years from now a family member will search his or her ancestors and come looking. So I’m glad it’s there. And I will bring flowers come Memorial Day.

When I walk through the cemetery, which is quite often, I always stop for a moment to say hello and , of course, usually shed a few tears. But that’s not where my memories are with Mike. I don’t even actually think of him being there. I feel closest to him when I return from my walk and sit on the deck with a glass of wine, enjoying the evening sunset. Or as I walk through the hills at the farm cutting cedar trees or gaze on the lake at the cabin in Minnesota. That’s where he’ll always be and me with him.

Peace, my love.