Paperwork

Bills, notices, medical claims, insurance policies– it never seems to end. I am thankful for my brother’s financial skills and happily leave them in a pile for him to collect. However, there is one part of the paperwork, the tombstone, that I am working on this week.

I am quickly realizing that the tombstone, graveyard marker, headstone– whatever you want to call it— is going to require additional research. Contacting the township clerk, the funeral home director, comparing prices, and remembering the Michigan weather conditions are some of the tasks. My brother, the avid Amazon buyer, wants to purchase it online and then figure out who could install it. I even caught myself checking on Groupon. Are there actually Groupons for tombstones? I only found Halloween gifts. What about school auctions? Maybe we could attend one and get it for really cheap. Being Dutch really is crazy at times.

Besides phoning companies, I find myself returning to the cemetery to look at my mother’s site. I don’t know why I do it. My brother said he won’t come back for some time. As I look around, the tombstones belong to people from the same church my mother attended. Located a short distance from my mother’s site, is Gabrielle Van Horn’s stone. Tears fill my eyes as I remember how my mother would always reach out to her at church. My mother frequently spoke of Gabrielle, severely disabled since birth, and her devoted parents. Gabrielle’s mother, despite being busy with a catering company, made it a priority to come to the visitation. It reminded me once again how much it means to the disabled when someone takes the time to reach out and care.

As I complete this additional research, I can’t help but wonder how often we will actually visit this cemetery in years to come. Will we make it an annual Memorial Day ritual where we visit? Do people do this? Do entire families visit the cemetery together and then head to Bob Evans as a type of memory?

I also think about the type of marker to purchase. The option to purchase a double marker also exists, but I can hardly bear to think of my father buried as well. It was especially difficult today when I visited my father and viewed his declining mobility, lack of interest in any activities, and extreme fatigue. He was doing so well on Sunday ! As I left his room, I stood and wept. The words, carelessly uttered after my father’s fall, still haunt me; ” I felt so sorry for you when I heard the news of your father’s fall. Two parents in one year?”

I console myself with the words to the song the elementary students sang today as I subbed in the music classroom.

You are my strength and comfort
You are my steady hand
You are my firm foudation
The rock on which I stand
Your ways are always higher
Your plans are always good
There’s not a place where I’ll go
You’ve not already stood

https://www.songfacts.com/facts/lauren-daigle/trust-in-you