Weep

Last month we planted flowers at the graves of our loved ones, as we do every Memorial Day. I explained to Rosie and Buddy that we were doing it to show our family members in Heaven that we love them, miss them and remember them.

There are a few figurines at my grandma's headstone- one of them, a cocker spaniel, because she and Pop Pop had one named Misty. Rosie asked if she could hold it, I said yes, and in moments she had picked it up gently and was creating an imaginary world with it.

It's something my Grandma would have loved to see.

I reorganized the flowers I had left remaining to plant in the Goshen cemetery, and stood up. It was time to head out. Rosie carefully put the cocker spaniel back, and Steve started getting her and Buddy buckled into the car.

I looked back at Gram's headstone, now freshly adorned with a variety of annuals. I felt my throat tighten. She passed in 2004. It had been 10 years, a third of my life. How had that much time passed?

Just then, a whisper, in my head: "Do not stand at my grave and weep...".

It was a line from Gram's favorite poem that she had read at funerals of her family members:

Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.         By Mary Elizabeth Frye

It was at that moment that I looked at the beautiful blue sky with its puffy white clouds, smelled the sweet scent of spring flowers and heard my children's laughter.

It was true: she was with God. And God is all around us.

She did not die.