Each day I'm racing home from work, late to make dinner, late to get someone somewhere, I pass by a small, quiet cemetery nestled on the corner under tree cover. It looks serene, which is not at all what I imagine my life appears to be. Every day as I make the turn like Cruella de Vil hot on the trail of Dalmatian offspring, I see an old man sitting on the seat of his walker, staring at a grave marker. There is always a somewhat younger woman with him. Sometimes she is standing off to the side under the shade tree. Sometimes she holds the umbrella for him. Sometimes she sits next to him in a camp chair. That's right. A camp chair. Like they are going to be here for awhile. I believe it too because the the times I pass are quite varied.
His head is often bowed. And as I have continually observed, my head often is, too. I think about it. I think about what has happened in his life. He has clearly lost someone who meant a great to him. Maybe a spouse. A child. A friend.
He might, of course, have some extra time on his hands, he might be retired, but his dedication has made an impact on me. He is mourning. Clearly. And might I suggest he is doing it well? The rest of us, we say we have to mourn on the fly, and it's partly true, we do have responsibilities to manage so we tuck any type of grief we encounter away as quickly as it comes. But what if we took some time to visit that wound? What if we took some time to stare that marker in the face? What if we camped out with it in a deluge holding tightly to a yellow umbrella? Would we gain some clarity? Would we find relief? Would we empty our hearts of the sorrow that strangles our voice?
I do not think my friend comes daily to be tortured. He comes daily to seek peace, to empty his heart, to speak words or feel silence. He comes to remember. He comes to be as close as possible to what he has lost. Maybe his tears mingle with the rain and water the grass that is now growing there. But each day I imagine he goes back home grateful that he went.
I do not know this man or his story. But while it seems like I am deep in the land of the living, I am thinking of deeper things. Inhaling a deep breath of the summer air. Listening to the birds. Whispering words of love. Eating an extra cookie. Working through some grief.
I've got a few things to tackle. A few things to work out. Now is the time. Each afternoon is an opportunity.
You just never know how or when you might influence someone. This man will never know the difference he made for me as I just casually observed his goings about. But each day I now search for him and hope to catch a glimpse of his visit. Cruella has left the building.
He is daily reminding me of the good gifts I have. I want to embrace and enjoy each one with a full and grateful heart. For one day it is possible I will be doing the same as he. And if so, may it be such a positive influence on someone as he has been for me.
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