Thursday, April 17, 2008

'Visiting' Myles II

Why do we come to grave sites, us atheists? I don't know why people who believe our loved ones are 'watching over us, can here or see, send us signs'. I can't put myself in that persons shoes, the thought of it bothers me on multiple levels. All I can do is ask myself why do I go to grave sites, and honestly I've never had one to visit. I've always visited cemeteries, actually loved old cemeteries.
Even when I was a believer I used to visit cemeteries. As a child I visited my grandfathers grave, haven't for a long time, but I never knew him. Still, I used to cry, and would tomorrow for the pain it causes my mom to be without her father for almost 30 years.
As a preteens, we visited them when we were causing trouble. I'd lay down, imagining myself the whole time as completely parallel to the lifeless body beneath me. Silly. Of course I still believed back then, and we used to believe that maybe something could happen, and we were scared. Scared of the supernatural. A feeling I haven't had for a long time.

As and adult, my sister and I, and even Simone and I once when I was pregnant with Myles, would walk along, read the names and ages and imagine the families and the tragedies of their lives. I especially like historic cemeteries, I live about 7 or 8 blocks from one and it is filled with so much history. That's where I ultimately decided to bury him.

My parents suggested my home town. My DH has always been adamant about that the fact that he wanted to be cremated, and I always wanted be buried in this obscure cemetery in sand hills where my great, great, great, and great grandparents have been buried, my grandma and grandpa too, my dad probably too. It's peaceful in the sand hills, standing in an ocean of grass, not a things in sight.

Yesterday I went to visit Myles. At first I think I did it for Simone. One day it had snowed and I couldn't find it, and I found him and with my bare fingers red from the freezing snow, I would clean off and clear off and manage his grave. Take care of 'him'. I don't believe he knows I'm there. I don't think 'he' is there. His body is buried there.
Why do I go there, for peace. To get away, and cry, and think about Myles and 'care' for my son, still so motherly. I like bringing things there, making it looked beautiful and cared for. So everyone who might see would know he would've been cared for tenderly had he lived. And tenderly I sit there, and cry, and I'm around these old trees, and whatever weather whithers that day.
It's nice to escape there. I don't like to go with other people. I will. I just don't 'get' anything out of it. Which is interesting to think about as what do I 'get' when I do go there? I'llm

No comments: