Life is Eternal - Photos by Jen

Cemeteries do not make me feel uneasy or sad. Oh, I get sad when I miss Andy, or think that we won't hear any more of Joe's stories, but this weekend gave me time and opportunity to think of these loved ones in a different way.

Easter weekend is a traditional time to go visiting the cemetery where our son, Andy, is buried. An old cemetery on a craggy hill, adjacent to an old dairy farm, the stones closest to the brick wall with its iron gate are carved with the oldest names in our town and county.

Names like Stephens and Budd adorn the largest stones and obelisks near the front gate. Further back - going up the small hill and circular road - are the rest of the residents of this area who followed the pioneering families of this rural area. Our past police chief is buried here, and a past mayor. A young man who was engaged to a young lady from our church rests here. A baby - only days old - is interred here too; I remember when her only marker was a brick with her birth and death dates on it, and the words, "Littlest angel." I have passed it for years - 34 to be exact - every time I walked to our son, Andy's, grave.

Andy's stone is a sweet, wedge-shaped stone with the words, "Child of God" and Duryea's praying hands. His given name, Alexander Neal Nelson, is inscribed, but we knew him and loved him as "Andy" which is carved below that formal moniker. A tiny angel carved into the stone serves as a guardian angel we hoped would watch over him, always.

I thought of the baby girl buried near Andy when I visited, as I bent to clear away leaves, or change up the holiday decoration (at Christmas, a wreath we made from branches from our friend, Kathy's, pine tree; at Easter, some sweet nosegay or potted pansies or daffodils)...on his birthday, some Lilies of the Valley, watered with my tears. Always, I included the little angel - and her parents, grandparents, possible siblings - in my thoughts, my prayers. Her brick deteriorated, and one day, disappeared. I wondered about that, and looked, every time I visited, for a replacement marking her spot on the hill.

More than a year ago, we noticed a traditional, wedge-shaped stone was placed where the brick had once been. A lovely stone, it has her real name and other information on it, which comforted me. Finally, this little one was more permanently memorialized, and, in my mother's heart, Andy had a neighbor nearby. I cherished the thought that he was not alone or lonely on that country hillside.

I wondered, Easter Sunday, again, about her - the timing of her death, the inexpensive, simple brick - finally replaced, after 30+ years with a formal headstone. At the time she died, were her parents very young, perhaps without the means to buy a permanent, expensive stone? What were the circumstances surrounding her death? Where did she live? I felt sadness for her, and for them, because I know that, no matter what answers are given to so many questions, there are twice as many questions which go unanswered.

On Easter, then, we tidied up Andy's area. We checked on the Saint Florian coin his identical twin brother, now almost 39, had put into the hand of the Saint Francis of Assisi statue positioned closely to the stone. (Both of our sons and my husband served as volunteer firemen, and the placement of the coin was a sweet surprise one day when I went to visit by myself. I knew, right away, that our son had placed it there, on his way past the cemetery as he went to work). Both our sons recognize his place, in our home and memories, as precious.

Next, we placed the pot of tiny daffodils give to us by our daughter in law in front of the stone and the small, brass ground pick of a small boy and a dog, inscribed with, "Snips and snails and puppy dogs' tails...that's what little boys are made of." A small angel statue on the other side sits, a butterfly resting on her outstretched hand. It was all so lovely, so protective and so tender, and, yet, we know it will never be enough to erase the memory of our initial, agonizing shock, nor the more gentle, forgiving peace we have embraced after all these years. It's not that it is okay, now. It just "is." Faith, family and friends have helped us grow, while allowing us to feel our initial pain, and to cope as time went by, so that, now, we are left with loving memories of him.

Before we walked away, we placed small stones on top of his headstone. I first heard of this practice when I was young. Someone explained that, in a Jewish cemetery, it demonstrates that visitors have come - loved ones and friends -who pay their true respect and love, and leave a token of true, devoted remembrance...as if to say, "I was here, thinking of you, missing you, loving you."

This Easter, we also went to another cemetery, farther down that country road from Andy's resting place. We went to pay our respects to our friend, Joe, this weekend. It is Joe's first anniversary in heaven, we think and say. We see his beautiful, majestic, and stalwart stone - so different than Andy's, for this was a grown man, with a colorful history and experiences, memberships, church and family relationships, and obligations. It seems that a man of this age and a life this full should have a big stone, one we can imagine for his bigger-than-life personality. It's upright - wide and tall - with simple etchings on the top and bottom, and a beautiful, Celtic cross in the middle of the stone, for this reference to his wife's heritage and their combined faith was important for her to embrace as she designed this stone.

It is the back of the stone, however, that really articulates what we celebrated at Joe's funeral last year. Sick for an undeniably short period of time, Joe's death was a shock to his wife and son, and hard to embrace by other family, friends and community. His wife reached inward and looked for something that spoke of the love, faith, and hope that would help heal the hurt of this life ending too soon. She drew upon her faith and a favorite musical artist to help her.

On the back of the stone is inscribed, "Life is eternal, love is immortal, and death is only a horizon" from a beautiful song by Carly Simon. The words continue "...as we move into the light, the horizon is nothing, save the limit of our sight. " The song was played at his funeral, and the words remind us that Joe will live forever, as will our love, and death - rather than being a final end to our relationship with that loved one - is only a horizon which is no barrier to how we see and feel that relationship...if we do not limit our sight. We must allow the horizon of life to include us here and now, and in our immortal lives, one day. It is then that we can remain together in spirit.

So, we placed new stones on top of Joe's stone - keeping the horizon - and Joe - close to us. We talked about him, chuckled as we remembered his old jokes and stories. We will continue to live this life - with its horizons and sights set for beautiful memories in the making and comforting memories made when he was here with us.

We have brought "memory" stones before, and several of us added to those this Easter, until the top of his stone looked like a gentle path - with some smooth stones that have words painted on them - words such as "love," "always" and "We cherish our memories." There are also rough-hewn stones, found there at the beautiful cemetery - this weekend bright and glorious with new buds, flowers, lush green grass lawns. These stones are part of this place where we honor his life and live in his honor, so they say volumes, as well. They are the path we laid there - to pave his resting place with our loving memories, spoken and unspoken.

As our talk and tears quietly subsided, we hugged and slowly turned away. I spontaneously circled back to kiss the top of the stone, and say goodbye - for now. We will all be together some day - when time and our bodies have spoken, and God is prepared to welcome us into His kingdom. For now, however, we are here, so we can keep Joe and Andy, and the saints before them, within our sight - a limitless expression of the love that brought us together, never to separate us, for life is eternal. and love is immortal.