Visiting The Dead

This past weekend marked the fourth anniversary of my brother-in-law's death. He was just 48, the victim of an untimely heart attack. He was buried near the top of a hill in a small town cemetery that overlooks the Washtenaw County countryside. Peaceful, pastoral, welcoming. Several of the family visited there on Sunday to pay our respects and check on things.

Though some cemeteries strictly limit what can be placed at the gravesite, not so this resting place. Years ago an unknown friend of my brother-in-law had taken a golf club, driven the shaft into the ground and written "Dude We Miss You" onto the club head. It still stands next to the headstone, though the painted lettering is wearing off. Yes, my brother-in-law loved to golf with his friends.

While a few of us tried to fix a set of wind chimes that had fallen, I wandered away a bit. Being a change spotter, I'm always attracted to this one headstone where many pennies and a few other coins lie rusting on its polished granite base. There's also a lone nickel resting atop the monument. I have to wonder why. Was he a collector?

On top of another headstone, someone had placed a small pudding stone. Many Michiganders collect pudding stones, including my mother and my sister. They should see the large pudding stone hauled at no mean effort to a resting place on the hill near the forest's edge. It weighs several hundred pounds easily.

Walking down the hill, I stop at a newer site where a pair of large stone angels stand watch. Nestled in the greenery of the grave blanket is a toy stuffed bear, bits of ice and snow collecting in its fur. The little girl buried here did not live to see her tenth birthday.

Her face has been etched in full color on an oval stonepiece which is attached to the headstone. Many headstones similarly feature such color images of the departed. Just as elaborate are the monuments finely etched with images of farms, tractors, dogs, deer, fish or whatever else might be connected with the deceased.

After our visit, my wife recalled the hardships pioneers endured crossing the Oregon Trail when death was nearly an everyday event. Those poor souls who ended their journey west prematurely were buried hastily with only a few rocks or sticks marking the spot. Nobody to remember them there. Nothing to remember them by. Another reason we're fortunate to live in this day and age, even when life ends.