Christmas at the Cemetery

There's a holiday gathering place that no one rushes to get to. There are no carolers, no punch, no meals, no bells ringing, and no pretty ribbons and bows. There are trees and wreaths but the residents don't seem to notice. Only the visitors appreciate the beauty of it all.

It's quiet, peaceful and full of lost potential and tasks left undone. It's full of love and lives well lived. The visitors know not of each other but have so much in common. We've all come to remember. Remember that special someone that resides in this place. Their bodies returned to their starting places. "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust." A journey. A personal journey that all of us must eventually take. We, the families, loved ones and friends, are mere spectators. We watch them laugh, live and love. We watch them move through their journeys and we're there to say our goodbyes. We're here to carry on without them. To find ourselves and who we are without them in our journeys.

We return to their final resting places like a pilgrimage to a far away land. Trying desperately to hang onto who they were to us. Hoping to grab a piece of those feelings once more. Trying to capture those magic moments all over again.

As I sat in my car this Christmas day in the cemetery where half of my family resides, I saw them come and go. The young, the old, the wives, the husbands, the children, the siblings, and the parents. We all had one goal in mind. To remember. To honor. To re-live the journey that now only exists in our memories.

It was cloudy, breezy and a chill was in the air. But still, they came. Every holiday is the same. The paths are worn. The residents don't change but the visitors do. The population grows each day. And each one has a story to tell. The son, who was taken way too soon because of someone else's indifference to life. The husband, who due to illness, endured too much suffering in the end because he wouldn't do what he should have in the beginning stages of diabetes. The grandmother(mother, mother-in-love) who "didn't do anything to get cancer and wasn't going to do anything to get rid of it." Those are just a few of the stories of my family that are residents there.

So the next time you're in a cemetery, close your eyes and hear what the wind is saying. Walk around and look at the headstones. See the names of those whom we celebrate every holiday season. Somebody loves someone whose name is on that headstone. Don't pass it by without acknowledgement. Remember, someday your name will be on the headstone.

I miss him. John W. Freeman. February 3, 1939 - July 22, 2009.
I miss him. Derrick W. Ellis October 4, 1989 - June 21, 2005
I miss her. Ruth M. Freeman January 8, 1920 - March 30, 2002
I miss him. William B. Ellis March 13, 1937 - May 24, 2001

What the Lonely Do at Christmas...

There's an "R&B" Christmas song called "What Do the Lonely Do At Christmas" sung by The Emotions that has never played a role in my Christmas' until now. So I am going to answer this perpetual question here tonight. Christmas Eve 2009. Who better to shed some light on this subject than someone who is right, smack dab in the middle of it.

What do the lonely do at Christmas?

1. We force ourselves to put up a tree because we know deep down in our hearts that if we don't, we never will again. We buy "memory" ornaments and hang them from the branches. Photos with their smiling faces watching us as we struggle to get through. Reminders of happier Christmases.
2. We shop for the ones we still have with us even though our hearts are not in it anymore. We see numerous items that we could buy for the ones we miss. I wonder why finding a gift for them seemed to be so difficult while they were here yet now on every shelf of the store there's something I know he would like and could use. Ain't that peculiar?
3. I make hot chocolate for one now. Sit by the tree with Christmas carols playing in the background, longing for him to walk through that door just one more time.
4. I see him, around every corner, in every aisle of every store, and in every face that I meet in the street.
5. I only wish for 1 gift this year. A gift that I know is impossible to receive. A gift that I didn't fully appreciate for the 25 years of our relationship. How could I have taken so much for granted for so long? If Santa were real, I would ask him for this one special thing.

Santa, will you bring my baby back to me? Just for a moment on Christmas Eve? So that I could tell him how much I still love him. So I can hear his voice, see his smile, and feel his touch just one more time. I know in my heart that one moment wouldn't be long enough. I'd want him to stay so we could be the couple we used to be. So I wouldn't have to experience a lonely Christmas ever again. If he could, I know that he would. That was who he was when he was here.

My husband, my lover, my friend. I miss him.

So while I may be lonely this Christmas, I know that I'm not alone. Someone once told me, "As long as we speak their names, they never really die."

John. John. John....'Till the day I die, his name will be spoken and he will live in my heart always.

Merry Christmas, Baby....You sure did treat me right. I miss you.

Deck The Hall and All That Jazz..

As Christmas quickly approaches, I find myself continuing to recall all those previous Christmas days that John & I spent together.

He usually worked on Christmas Eve. He worked the graveyard shift over the entire course of our time together so he was always home on Christmas day no matter which day of the week Christmas happened to fall on. He got just as excited as the kids. He tried to play it off over the years, but I saw that "twinkle" in his eye on Christmas morning. After lying down for just a few hours, he would "drag" himself out of bed after being beckoned by our kids to "come see what Santa got for us Daddy!" He loved it. He tried to be the Scrooge but he didn't fool me. I even got him to attend a few of the holiday parties that were put on by folks that I worked with.

I attended that party just last night. It was nice and I enjoyed it but it wasn't the same. An "ex" co-worker was standing in the kitchen and saw me for the first time since she'd come thru the door. She said something that I didn't quite hear so I moved closer to her. She asked the question again...."How's John doing?" I almost didn't know what to say. I thought everyone would know by now. But in all fairness to her, she no longer works with us. So I told her that John had passed away in July. She apologized for not knowing. That moment was so surreal for me. It still doesn't feel right saying that John is no longer here. But I got through it.

I returned home to my empty house. Reality. Cold, hard and unforgiving. As I sat and watched the Christmas tree display it's fiber optic light show, I drifted back to a happier time. Sitting with John and watching the tree lights flicker in the darkness after the kids went to bed. He would tell me of some of his childhood memories of Christmas. The good times with his siblings and their appreciation for whatever was under the tree.

So even though John talked like Scrooge, his actions betrayed his speech. We didn't care that we rarely bought each other presents. It was all about the kids. Sometimes, it was John that was the kid. He critiqued the decorations. He "helped" the kids open their presents. He cooked that ham for us almost every year. He drank the hot chocolate and listened to the Christmas music with me. He phoned home on Christmas Eve to lend his "expertise" on putting together the bicycles and toys. So he wasn't really a Scrooge. He didn't even put a tree when I first came into his life. So he came full circle over the years.

I miss him. John, my Christmas angel.