Walking to the Cemetery

Right after my dad passed away, I had no desire to go back to the cemetery where he was buried, even though it was only a 5-minute drive from where we lived. The thought seemed morbid and sad to me.

In November, I finally went back to put some flowers by his grave (and by those of my grandparents) on Remembrance Day.

After that, I went back a couple of times to check on the flowers--they lasted a surprisingly long time--and then to add some evergreen clippings for Christmas.

Now, ten months after my dad's death, walking to the cemetery is part of my routine--sometimes I go there several times in a week. I consider it a peaceful place, and I actually enjoy going there.

What changed?

When we moved, one of the things that I was most upset about was that there was "nowhere to walk" at our new place. Our old neighborhood was quiet and friendly--lots of people walked around the block, and we would often see the same neighbors in passing. Our new house is on a busy street--we hear nonstop traffic day and night that goes right past our front door.

When we'd only been here a few days, Jason told me the cemetery was only a 10-15 minute walk from the house, and--since I'd only ever approached it from a different direction--I didn't believe him. I reluctantly agreed to walk down there with him so he could prove it.

Well, it turns out he was right. Then, since I didn't know anywhere else to walk from here, I started going down the hill to the cemetery in the mornings after dropping my kids off at school. 

On the way down, it's always a pleasant walk along the long, winding hill. I enjoy the view of the sky and the fields, and I love hearing the birds sing. Once I'm off the main road, there is very little traffic, and I'm alone with my thoughts ... except for the occasional bunny. 

The way back up is a different matter: the long, winding hill is always a challenge, and I often think of Christina Rossetti's poem, "Does the road wind up-hill all the way?/Yes, to the very end." Sometimes I wonder why I’ve done this to myself, but then when I reach the top where it’s flat I think the climb wasn’t so bad. Every time! Anyway, overall it's a good 30-minute walk that makes me feel like I've had some exercise.

But what about the cemetery itself?

Somehow, it has become a soothing place for me. As I approach it from the hill, it's familiar and calm. It reminds me of when I used to walk to the library with my kids and we started to think of its grounds as an extension of our own yard.

I have taken to switching out the fresh flowers at my dad's grave every week or so, which gives me something practical to do.

Sometime I'll walk down with the kids on the weekends. A few weeks ago, Eric stopped to pick some daisies, claiming they were "grandpa's favorite flower." (We all remember Dad making daisy chains for the kids, and he always preferred the flowers from his yard to anything store bought.)

I wish I could say visiting the cemetery helps me feel closer to my dad, but it really doesn't. I know he’s not there and that the flowers are more for me than for him—when I really think about it, I realize that I’m trying to prove in a concrete way that I remember him.

Today, though, as I checked on the roses I'd put down last week, and noticed they'd need to be replaced soon, I wondered if they'd last until Sunday (Father's Day). I realized then that these walks and these flowers are—in part—my way of honoring my father throughout the year.

Walking to the cemetery has become part of my peaceful acceptance that even though my dad is gone, remembering him and honoring him as my father can still be part of my day-to-day life.