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Wednesday, February 9, 2005 -- 3:06pm
Posted by Bar


.....thoughts for this special day.  Thinking of all of you and 
grateful for your being there.  
Much love, Bar 

February 9, 2005 

The cemetery is quiet.  3 paths are clearly visible in the snow.  3 
paths which say: "I visit here often to express my love, my grief, my 
loneliness and my longing to be near you".  One is my path.  One is 
Donna's.  One is a new one so I walk it.  At the end of the path I 
find a bench that someone has made by hand to commemorate a child they 
love who has died.  I knew it.  Only a mother would visit here 
regularly enough to wear a path out in the snow.  At least that's what 
I assume.  The seat is poured concrete and the back is made of heavy 
steel so a visitor can lean up against it.  It looks like a very large 
and powerful hand that can hold a person up for as long as they need 
holding.  All three of the paths at this graveyard are walked by 
mothers who are still taking care of their child's body because there 
is nothing left for her to do.  Donna visits Brian.  He was 26 when he 
died.  He fell from Kaaterskills Falls just west of here and probably 
died instantly.  She hopes so but she doesn't know for sure.  He was 
just out for a hike with his girlfriend, but his time had come.  Donna 
still feels like he's in some kind of limbo - not quite released from 
this realm and into the next.  She comes here everyday.  When I first 
came here 3 years ago, she was already in her sixth month and she 
practically lived here.  You couldn't pull her away.  I remember 
comforting her then.  Cancer is so much easier to understand than a 
slippery rock and a steep fall out of the blue on a perfect summer 
day.  

I wasn't surprised when that third path arrived at: "Anya - age 22".  
I know it's her mother who visits because mothers need to know where 
their children are and ours are right here and so we tend to them.  In 
a strange sort of way it's easier than regular mothering.  We know 
exactly where our children are and all we need to do is speak and we 
are connected to them instantly.  No telephone is necessary.  But 
there are always the questions: "where are they really?  I mean, 
really, where are they?" or " Are they?" Because how can I know for 
sure?  I know what I hope for.  I know what I feel sure of in many 
moments, but the mystery is still the mystery and it's more compelling 
than ever.  

I took a walk around the graveyard looking for my friend Natalie who 
died a month ago.  I thought maybe she was buried here but I could not 
find her and it doesn't feel like she's here.  During my search, I 
read a lot of the stones around this side of the cemetery and the 
stories they tell are remarkable.  

One guy has a big stone with the image of a man T-ing off on a golf 
course.  The sun is shining down on him in the stone work and by 
looking at it, I got a pretty good sense of who this guy was and what 
was most important to him.  Another marker has three stones mounted to 
it.  The central and largest one reads "Sgt Richard F.  Quinn aged 
22".  Below, it tells me that Richard died while serving as a medic in 
The Vietnam War.  His father and mother have their own smaller stones 
to the right and left of their son.  His father, Vincent, was a 1st Lt 
10th Mt Div in WWII and his mom, Hilde, who died in 1997, is described 
as a devoted mother and wife.  Together they honor their son by lying 
on either side of him and choosing a larger stone for him.  They 
buried him.  He died first.  I can understand a lot of what they must 
have felt.  

Yet another stone has one name in the center: "Margot".  Underneath 
her name is "wife", and "1897 - 1970" I assume that the names on 
either side of hers are her husband's and maybe a child who died 
young.  But no.  Her husband's name is there: "Erling - husband" but 
on her other side it reads: "Alfhilde - wife" No dates accompany 
Erling and Alfhilde.  Interesting.  So I wonder: has he died yet?  If 
not, he's 107!  If he has, he and Alfhilde decided to be buried 
elsewhere.  Or maybe Alfhilde decided to bury him elsewhere and she's 
still alive and didn't want to be wife #2.  Who knows.  But it sure 
did get my imagination going and that's what I love about cemeteries.  
I always have.  They're so full of human history and personal stories 
that are no longer told or which can only be imagined.  No question, 
though, that there is a lot of love floating around.  Flowers are 
delivered.  Trinkets are left behind.  And in the spring, visitors 
return.  

Our path, Forrest's path, was sprinkled with colored sparkles by 
someone who has visited recently.  I think I knew who it was.  The 
sprinkles are sugar and remind me of his friend Catherine and of his 
little school, Supertots, and I know that Catherine and her mom came 
out to visit here earlier this week.  There are green, orange, red, 
blue and pink spots in the snow along the path leading to Forrest's 
grave.  A week or so ago, I marked out an enormous heart around 
Forrest's spot.  Someone left a beautiful lily in the center of the 
heart this morning.  Another person left an amethyst and there's a 
chocolate bunny's egg too.  Some critter will find that soon enough.  
I left a necklace made by Forrest's friend Molly.  She sent it to me 
last year and I've been carrying it around with me since then.  I 
thought Forrest might like it.  He loved his friends dearly.  It means 
a lot to me that people visit here.  I don't feel quite as alone and I 
love that other people remember Forrest with such care.  

When I come out here it's not usually a sad time and in it isn't today 
either.  I love it here.  It's quiet and beautiful and I'm surrounded 
by the stones of many loved people and a fabulous view of the Catskill 
Mountains.  I talk out loud to all of it.  I talk to Forrest and to 
the others and to the mountains and the birds who inevitably show up 
when I do.  It is comforting to come here because here I know where at 
least some little part of Forrest really is.  Not knowing where he is 
is one of the hardest parts about being in my shoes.  Sometimes I lie 
down next to Forrest and look to the sky from his perspective 
(depending on how you imagine it.  Someday I'll lie here next to him 
and that thought is a welcomed one for me.  

Life has been incredible so far.  It is for everyone, isn't it?  Hard 
and wonderful and I wouldn't change a thing.  Even those things that I 
wish I had done differently are impossible to change when I try to 
re-imagine them.  It all leads perfectly to here.  And for all I know 
I will live another 46 years and experience yet another lifetime while 
still in this body.  I like that idea even as I am incapable of 
imagining what I could possibly do with another 46 years.  It's like 
asking a 6-year old what they want to be when they grow up.  For me, 
it's impossible to answer.  I know what today looks like and I can 
sort of see what the next couple of weeks might be like, but beyond 
that I have no idea.  More mystery.  More life to live.