I am sitting in silence. This is after a day filled with Thing 2's meltdowns, yes plural, and her insistence on sabotaging my "day of rest" so to speak. It's also after a day of puppy play, which usually results in lots of barking, lots of tug of war between the two dogs, and inevitably screaming from Thing 2 because she hasn't yet learned how to deal with sharp puppy teeth properly, thus she screams at a decibel so high it hurts area dogs' ears, and I usually have to deal with said puppy, who by the way, knows exactly what she is doing by targeting Thing 2. This silence is so rare I almost didn't recognize it. It is something I crave which could be because of my introvertedness (or would it be introvertism)...either way, I recharge when I can think...in silence....alone. So, I'm thinking right now, albeit out loud through my fingers but I'm thinking and recharging while all four little girls in this house, furry and non-furry, breath deep breathes of sleep.
The photo may seem strange to you. The leaves may have caught your eye first, which in all honestly is why I decided to pull into my second favorite cemetery. It's a place I've gone regularly since I found it years ago, probably after a funeral for a friend or student. There's no question the fall colors are breathtaking there right now and pretty much ONLY THERE right now as the rest of the trees have lost most of their colors or have just turned a dingy brown. So, yes, the leaves lured me in, but I didn't resist whatsoever because my heart needed to go there.
I love the perspective that cemeteries give me. Maybe it's weird. Maybe it's depressing or dark. I don't care. I have yet to go to a cemetery filled with angst of some sort and leave still feeling the angst I entered with. I have yet to go and feel nothing. I don't believe I've ever felt a more reverent and strangely holy place. Sometimes I sit at the graveside of former students, looking at the photos on their stone or touching the things left there by their friends as mementos. Seventeen years old. Eighteen years old. Nineteen years old. Sixteen years old. Two died from choices they made to end their lives. One died after battling cancer relentlessly. One died in a car accident. And these were only four that are buried in the same area. Yes, there are more students I've had buried there.
Sometimes I go to the baby section of the cemetery. To even say that word, "baby" gives me a stomach ache. Yet, I've been to a funeral there. Forever etched in my mind will be the tiniest casket I've ever seen. On my visit this time, I saw a couple carrying a small pumpkin to place near a headstone. Suddenly, perspective.
When I drove in to the cemetery, I was pretty much running on empty. It's been a surprisingly hard month in so many ways. I hate whining so I won't do that here. But suffice to say, I'm struggling. Maybe one has to be in order to find solace in a cemetery. Maybe not. Yet, as I drove through (Thing 2 was with me so there was no stopping to sit today) this sought after peace I was looking for mustered its way into my moment. It could have been that moment when I drove by a headstone that said Cummins on it. Sobering. It could have been the couple I mentioned above. It could have been the amazing beauty of God's creation screaming at me to "look up, just keep looking up because I AM always here even when these leaves fall." More than likely though, it was the women I saw, probably a bit younger than I am, weeping gently as she leaned against a headstone. Her arms were draped around it. Her head lay so her cheek was against the smooth side of the stone. From the distance I was, I could see the tears as her eyes were closed. I didn't want to invade her moment, so as quietly as I drove up, I backed up and took another route. Suddenly, perspective.
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