A visit to the cemetery

We got a shock the other day. The sexton of the cemetery had just informed us that our memorial space on the wall had been engraved (leaving out the years of our deaths) and was ready for us to see. We both felt a little weird about going to visit it, but curiosity won out. When we arrived, we discovered that our engraving was larger than we had envisioned. In fact, it was way too big, especially compared to all the other modest engravings on the walls. We were surprised and embarrassed.

But let me back up. For the past several months we’ve been doing our death-work. We’ve been making the decisions about things like resuscitation, pro-longing (or not) of life, what to do with our bodies, which cemetery to use, and so on. We’ve been filling out the forms, gathering and filing documents, making cost comparisons (and discovering what a big business death has become!).

We had put this off long enough. Still, we don’t feel old enough, as though we’re subconsciously thinking that our deaths will only come in very old age. We know, of course, that’s not necessarily true, but making all the arrangements seems like a capitulation to the inevitable.

But really, it’s just being responsible. It’s getting our ducks in in a row before they jump into the dark lake. And we’re doing it for our kids and grandkids so that they won’t be burdened with the decisions and details. Someday they’ll thank us. (Where have I heard that before?)

Our retirement community has recently been hosting seminars on “Facing the Hard Questions.” In three well-attended sessions, we’re receiving practical information about all these issues, complete with lists of decisions and actions, copies of the necessary forms, ideas for memorial service pre-planning, reflections on how to dispose of our stuff without causing family trauma, and so on. It’s been a helpful reminder that we need to do all of this sooner than later.

Last month we made our cremation arrangements. That really felt weird. But there’s a certain satisfaction in urging that duck into the row. We chose the Friends Cemetery, partly because Hal’s grandparents, aunts and uncles, and parents are buried there. We decided against burying an urn in the ground with a plaque above it, choosing instead to include our names in the wall of engravings. We took our time deciding on what to put on it, wanting a verse to accompany our names.

Back to the visit to the cemetery and the viewing of our engraving. Its size reflected a misunderstanding that seemed huge. It outflanked all the other engravings on the wall and seemed to be bragging, “These dead people are grander than all those other dead people!” But that’s not at all what we think. The opposite. We’ve always felt that small is better than big, modesty better than pride. A whisper is stronger than a shout. But with this engraving, we seem to be giving a big proud shout. So embarrassing.

Surely, we hadn’t ordered this size engraving. But, on second thought…maybe we did. Inadvertently. My borderline dyslexia confuses distance, dimension, and size.

Then, after the emotions subsided (helped by slow breathing and time), my third thought was simply, “So what?” Will anyone even notice? It’s not that obvious (is it?) and people coming to a cemetery aren’t really in a mood to judge other people’s dead relatives.

This led me to ponder the purposes of memorials, be they tombstones, plaques laid in the grass, engravings on a wall—or even the Taj Mahal! We all want to be remembered, and this is, in part, an attempt to make that happen. We need to leave behind a testimony that we existed, breathed, walked on this earth, and lived out a story. We hope they visit “us” with gratitude and good memories.

I visited the Vietnam Memorial several years ago and was profoundly moved by the beauty and simplicity of thousands of names engraved on the curving black wall. The arrangement of the names, all the same size, inspired reverence and gratitude for the young men and women who gave their lives. Even for those of us who did not support the war, this memorial seems appropriate. It serves a good and necessary purpose.

And, of course, another key purpose for a memorial site is to provide a place where our friends and family can come to remember us and celebrate our lives. But I have to ask myself,  will our kids and grandkids and friends really visit, after the death rites are over and done? My parents are buried in a small site in Fallbrook, California. It’s far from my home and I’ve only visited it once; but I think of them frequently, with gratitude. I trust the memories we’ve created with our kids and grandkids are stronger than granite. Even so, I’m glad I have my name on that wall. For them.

I realize that probably pride is driving my embarrassment at the size of our engraving. I don’t want other people to judge us arrogant or self-promoting. Which is silly. We know we are not that way. More importantly, God knows.

We think we’ll just leave it. Not that we have much choice. Erase an engraving in granite? Hal suggested removing and replacing the whole slab. Not going to happen.

I’ve decided to rest in peace (even while staying alive). I’ve also decided I won’t go to look at it again.

Now that that’s settled, I think I’ll write my obituary. I’m going for hilarious.