“I dunno, maybe scatter my ashes up in Michaux.” That’s Michaux State Forest. When I think of the most peaceful place in my life, Michaux’s got to be it. Once, the beach topped my list, but now I believe peace is synonymous with solitude, and there’s just too many people on the beach. Plus, I might wash into someone’s open mouth.
Last week, as my wife Susan and I ate dinner with her dad* we discussed Jeanne’s headstone. Al said something that caught my attention. “I’m trying to do what your mother would have expected.” And then I started thinking about what, if anything, I expect.
A few weeks ago, I visited the Memorial Garden at a local medical building after an appointment with my doctor. Shortly after I moved to Gettysburg, I read in the newspaper that the garden was under construction. They described it as a place for quiet reflection. To fund the effort, the nonprofit medical system sold etched memorial bricks to be laid in the garden. On a nice day, it’s lovely. Neatly landscaped with a small pond and a bench. Surrounded by bricks commemorating deceased loved-ones, it’s very much like visiting a cemetery.
We buried my mother in Rockville, Maryland in 1984. At the time, my father, my brother Dana, and I all lived within ten miles of the cemetery. My brother David had already moved out of the area. By the time I moved to Gettysburg in 2005, my father had remarried and moved to Virginia. Dana was talking about moving to Manhattan. David settled in Rhode Island. And I lived ninety minutes away on a light traffic day. Everyone was moving on or moving away, I worried that my mother’s grave would sit abandoned and unvisited. It seemed rather sad.
When I read about the Memorial Garden, I bought my mother a brick. If I couldn’t easily drive to the Rockville cemetery, I would have a local spot to visit. I envisioned frequent meditative sessions in her presence, an artificial waterfall gurgling in the background. Only I rarely visited. I’ve been maybe four times since it opened. I’m always in a rush when I leave my doctor appointments. I either need to get back to work or home to start my evening. I’ve been planning a visit since Jeanne died, but it’s been cold, and the garden is in the shade. Excuses!
It occurs to me that a person’s religious beliefs weigh heavily on their motivation to visit a marker. Because I believe in reincarnation, there is no spiritual reason to visit my mother’s grave. She’s not there, and she’s not monitoring from afar. My mother doesn’t care that I visit any more than I care if someone from my last life visits pre-Jeff’s grave—which in truth, is something I never even thought about before I wrote this paragraph. The only reason I visit my mother’s grave or the Memorial Garden is to inspire memories of someone I don’t think about nearly enough.
So what do I expect for a final ‘resting’ place? I told Susan that who ever I leave behind should do what’s right for them. I don’t want a gravestone and a plot, but if my kids want one for me, they should get one. It’s none of my business what happens to my remains, but right now, the thought of Sophie and Eli one day returning to Michaux State Forest to hike our favorite paths and scatter my ashes comforts me. From my perspective, anything that happens after my death is to benefit someone else. It’s a future course of events I don’t want to influence at all.
Another cemetery post about my mother: https://jefftcann.com/2018/01/17/about-death/
* For dinner, Al made my chili recipe:
- 2 cans of black beans
- 1 can of garbanzo beans drained
- 1 large can of crushed tomatoes
- 1 pound of hot Italian sausage
- 1 large white onion
Pan fry the onion and sausage
Combine all ingredients in a pot
Simmer for a while
Season to taste (chili powder, salt, pepper, Cholula)
(Make this chili)
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Previously Published on jefftcann and is republished on Medium.
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Photo credit: Author
