Yesterday I walked for probably about 4 or 5 hours. Every time I tried to sit down and get anything done I'd get so anxious, so jumpy inside, that I just had to get up and walk. Late in the day I met my sister at the Union Cemetery by her (previously my) house. This might sound weird to you, but let me explain:
When I was in the first grade, I was in Girl Scouts. One fall, our troop leader decided we were going to go across the street from the school to the cemetery, the Union Cemetery, and do crayon rubbings of graves. (We were learning about art techniques or something. How that applies to being a strong, brave Girl Scout I'll never know, but I digress.) Eight or ten little six - and seven-year-olds trundled across the street to the cemetery. We were all pretty creeped out. I mean, hello? There are dead people in here!
Not long after we arrived, one of the other girls spotted this gravestone:
"It says 'KATE!'" she screamed. Eight or ten pairs of wide eyes turned slowly to me.
"You're DEAD!!!" "AHHHHH!!!!!!" "RUN!!!"
Everyone scattered.
"I'm not dead!" I yelled. "Come back!" But nobody did. For the rest of the afternoon, any time I tried to get near one of my friends, they'd scream and run away from me. So I sat by that gravestone and made crayon rubbing after crayon rubbing, in all different colors, of the very same grave. It was very sad! I was only six years old. I didn't understand why everyone had to be so mean to me. Turns out that would be a common theme in my elementary and middle school life.
Ever since then, whenever I got the chance or whenever life was hard, I could always "go see Kate." My dad's parents are buried in a cemetery in Connecticut, which is obviously too far away to go whenever I want. My mom's dad is buried someplace in South Dakota. Same thing there. When my mom's mom passes away someday, she'll be buried next to her husband. So it's not like I can go to my grandparents' graves and put flowers or pebbles on the gravestones on their birthdays or deathdays.
That's where Kate came in. Her grave is under a pine tree and her gravestone is always covered in needles and twigs.
"Hi Kate," I always say, brushing off her gravestone. "How are you? Your headstone is a mess! But at least you're not being rained on!"
I never knew Kate in life. She was only dead about a year by the time I "met" her that day in first grade. But she's brought me peace. If Heaven is a real place, I wonder if she's met my grandparents. I wonder if they'd get along. Probably. My grandparents were awfully hard not to like!
My sister H and I walked around the cemetery, looking at cool or old headstones, rolling people's names around in our mouths to see how they sounded. I took some pictures of cool names or cool headstones.
This one has a castle on it, you might have to squint to see it:
Whenever I go see Kate, I always try to pick some flowers or a pretty plant to place on her headstone. There's a little bouquet of flowers embossed into the upper left-hand side of her stone, and I always put the flowers there. Sometimes I can pick daisies or Queen Anne's Lace. Sometimes I can snag a daffodil. Sometimes all I can find is a dandelion or two. But dandelions are happy looking little weeds, aren't they? And yellow is a happy, joyful color. I'm sure Kate doesn't mind.
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