Matters of Life and Death

Matters of Life and Death

It is spring, a time of new life, burgeoning blossoms and trees sprinkled with vibrant green life. This spring, however, it seems that my attention has been drawn more toward the death portion of the life-death-life cycle. It could be that this spring marks five years since my Grandma Faye passed and three years since my lifelong best friend, Danny, died. It could also be because the mother of one my good friends followed her husband, exactly one year to the day later, into the grave. It has become a tradition of mine and my mother's to take a day trip to visit the graves of my Grandma and Danny, to straighten them up and just spend a few moments there. This year, as I stood beside the headstone marking the spot where Danny's body was buried, I suddenly felt the silence of the new, small cemetery around me. We were the only people in the place and I was struck by how still it is there, so lifeless and so strange. Yes, I know. It is supposed to be all that because it is a graveyard. It just seemed, suddenly, so odd to be standing there on the grass, staring at a rock etched with my friend's name and knowing that he wasn't really there. I began to realize that cemeteries aren't really for the dead, but are somehow more for the living. My Grandmother is buried in an old cemetery a couple towns away amongst graves originating from the mid 1800's. It's a massive, sprawling track of land that is peppered with statues and tilting markers. And, since most of Grandma's family is scattered to the four winds, it seems her site is rarely visited. The grasses encroach upon the cement. The headstone is smudged with dirt and the vase is always empty. Mom took her time to get on her knees, lovingly trim the grasses with her kid-sized scissors and, eventually, the site looked neat and cared for. This year, we were treated with the stunning presence of pirouetting butterflies that fluttered about the site and lighted upon the headstone, leaving me enchanted. At the funeral of my friend's mother, I listened to her family lovingly share anecdotes that were little pieces of her life and were all peppered with laughter. I had never met this woman, but the stories left me with a smile and helped me know some of whom she was and what she had meant to her children. With the grave visits and since the recent funeral, I have wondered what effect my death would have on others. I have wondered what would be said at my funeral. I have wondered what legacy I would leave behind. While a legacy can be a monetary inheritance, I feel the most important legacy that I can leave behind is a well-lived life. I want to leave behind a firm knowledge of the depth of my love with each person I have loved. I want to be the kind of woman that people remember with a smile and a sigh. When it's time for me to leave this earth, I would like my life to be celebrated. I would like there to be a party with music, drums, dancing and laughter to ease the tears. And, I will send butterflies to weave colors through the air and remind everyone that I danced through life with love. ©Angie K. Millgate 4/27/08