Big Bucket of Crazy
About a month ago I decided to go out to the cemetery where my mom is buried. I can't really say why I decided to do it. It was a Saturday and the sun was out. A really pleasant looking day, actually. A day that was just begging to have some sort of wet blanket thrown over it.
I had to text message my sister to get directions to it since I hadn't been out there since they put in the headstone. My mom died Christmas Day 2001 and they had to wait until the ground had thawed to put it in. When my sister texted me back I got in my car and drove out to Maple Grove. The cemetery is just off county road 81 where the houses get really sparse and farm-y. I thought about bringing flowers, but I think they smell funny and I didn't want to smell that while I was driving. I also knew they die in a day anyway, and there's something really sad about seeing dead flowers on someone's grave, so I opted out.
I pulled onto the side of the road, next to the chain link fence that went around the perimeter. I got out and realized that I didn't know where exactly where my mom was buried. I remember after the funeral my family and I had walked to the upper corner of the cemetery, but after that I had no idea. The snow was fairly deep at the time, and while it was sunny it was pretty cold. I had parked at the opposite end, so I trudged through the snow to where I thought my mom was buried.
One clue I did have was that my uncle had told me that the people in charge of the cemetery had built a shed right next to my mom's grave. A shed to keep stuff for the groundskeeper in. Shovels, lawnmower, etc. My uncle had battled it at the time, because who wants a big ugly shed built next to a loved ones' grave? They asked that if they paint it another color would it be ok? My uncle told them that unless they were going to paint it invisible he was not ok with it. They built it anyway and there it stood. What a bunch of bastards.
Unfortunately, I was unable to locate the headstone. There were long metal rods sticking out of the ground to the side of a bunch of them. And I figured that since I couldn't see her's, my stepdad must have opted for a flat headstone. It was buried under snow somewhere, next to one of those damn metal rods.
I didn't have anything in my car to dig with. So I started with the metal rods closest to the shed as a reference point and started kicking at the snow around the rods, using my feet to loosen and kick it off to the side, trying to clear away the snow to find my mom's headstone. I was starting to get really cold at that point. The people in the houses directly next to the cemetery were treated to the sight of a girl, hands buried in her pockets, furiously kicking snow around graves. There is a term for people like that: Crazy. With a capital C. And I am a whole bucket of Crazy.
Getting most of the snow away from the rod was easy enough, but closer to the grass it was ice, which took a bit more effort. I was working up a sweat by kicking so much. I did this around 6 rods, clearing a circle around each about 4 feet in diameter. Each one was someone else's loved ones I was kicking at. Lovely. I decided to call my uncle.
I was out of breath at the time, and in hindsight I should've waited until I got my breathing normal again, because someone out of breath calling from a cemetery in the middle of winter does tend to raise a few questions. I told him I couldn't find my mom's headstone.
Uncle: It's next to the shed.
Me: I know it's next to the shed, but I've been trying to clear the area around all the metal rods that mark the gravestones, and I haven't found it.
Uncle: Not all of the gravestones have rods next to them.
Me:...
Uncle: Are you there?
Me: Yeah. So how do I find it?
Uncle: Are you in front of the shed now?
He basically told me that if I stood in front of the shed, and walked to the corner of it and walked out at a 45 degree angle I should be right on top of in a few feet. It took me a while to figure out which 45 degree angle he meant, as if there are many different 45 degree angles. He said it was right next to someone else's headstone that was closest to the shed. I kicked the snow around the area I thought he was talking about and stopped when I saw my mom's name. I thanked my uncle and got down on my knees and started digging though the snow with my hands. I didn't have any gloves on, which made it an even more stellar idea.
Not quite sure why, but I actually needed to see the entire headstone. That need was made more difficult by the rather thick layer of ice that covered most of it. Because I had exasperated myself kicking huge snow holes around metal rods that turned out to be everyone but my mom, I became extremely upset. I got out the Altoids tin I had in my bag and started hacking at the ice. Violently hitting it with the side of my minty treats. The neighbors, if they were watching me still, were probably getting an eye full. Much better than the mid-Saturday TV programming.
People tend to react in odd ways when overcome by emotion. Like for example kneeling in the snow on a freezing winter day hacking at a loved one's gravestone with an Altoid box.
Which brings to mind:
A year or so after my mom died my stepdad decided to take the chiropractor, that the medical examiner thought contributed to the stroke that killed her, to court under a wrongful death lawsuit. There was a tear in my mom's carotid artery which, the M.E. thought, was caused by too many neck adjustments that were performed improperly. The trial lasted for five days.
On the third or fourth day, the prosecution was outlining what kind of monetary amount my mom was worth for the jury to consider when determining damages. The lawyer my stepdad hired said that because she made this much money and so on and so forth, X amount of dollars should be awarded to her family if the jury decided the chiropractor was at fault.
The defense got up and said no, she wasn't worth that much really, and broke down how much she was actually worth.
I don't know how you would react to people arguing over how much someone you loved was worth, but I was so disgusted by the idea I became physically nauseous. I nearly tripped over my sister on my mad dash to the bathroom.
Back to the original story:
I cleared the ice away and had forgotten that my stepdad opted to have his name put on the gravestone as well so he can be buried next to my mom when he dies.
I had found where my mom was buried, and many others as well. I got one of those "well that's that" feelings, and walked back to my car. I almost wanted to stop by my grandpa's grave, but decided against it because my socks were wet and my hands were a bit numb. It would be better if I waited until spring thaw.
I had to text message my sister to get directions to it since I hadn't been out there since they put in the headstone. My mom died Christmas Day 2001 and they had to wait until the ground had thawed to put it in. When my sister texted me back I got in my car and drove out to Maple Grove. The cemetery is just off county road 81 where the houses get really sparse and farm-y. I thought about bringing flowers, but I think they smell funny and I didn't want to smell that while I was driving. I also knew they die in a day anyway, and there's something really sad about seeing dead flowers on someone's grave, so I opted out.
I pulled onto the side of the road, next to the chain link fence that went around the perimeter. I got out and realized that I didn't know where exactly where my mom was buried. I remember after the funeral my family and I had walked to the upper corner of the cemetery, but after that I had no idea. The snow was fairly deep at the time, and while it was sunny it was pretty cold. I had parked at the opposite end, so I trudged through the snow to where I thought my mom was buried.
One clue I did have was that my uncle had told me that the people in charge of the cemetery had built a shed right next to my mom's grave. A shed to keep stuff for the groundskeeper in. Shovels, lawnmower, etc. My uncle had battled it at the time, because who wants a big ugly shed built next to a loved ones' grave? They asked that if they paint it another color would it be ok? My uncle told them that unless they were going to paint it invisible he was not ok with it. They built it anyway and there it stood. What a bunch of bastards.
Unfortunately, I was unable to locate the headstone. There were long metal rods sticking out of the ground to the side of a bunch of them. And I figured that since I couldn't see her's, my stepdad must have opted for a flat headstone. It was buried under snow somewhere, next to one of those damn metal rods.
I didn't have anything in my car to dig with. So I started with the metal rods closest to the shed as a reference point and started kicking at the snow around the rods, using my feet to loosen and kick it off to the side, trying to clear away the snow to find my mom's headstone. I was starting to get really cold at that point. The people in the houses directly next to the cemetery were treated to the sight of a girl, hands buried in her pockets, furiously kicking snow around graves. There is a term for people like that: Crazy. With a capital C. And I am a whole bucket of Crazy.
Getting most of the snow away from the rod was easy enough, but closer to the grass it was ice, which took a bit more effort. I was working up a sweat by kicking so much. I did this around 6 rods, clearing a circle around each about 4 feet in diameter. Each one was someone else's loved ones I was kicking at. Lovely. I decided to call my uncle.
I was out of breath at the time, and in hindsight I should've waited until I got my breathing normal again, because someone out of breath calling from a cemetery in the middle of winter does tend to raise a few questions. I told him I couldn't find my mom's headstone.
Uncle: It's next to the shed.
Me: I know it's next to the shed, but I've been trying to clear the area around all the metal rods that mark the gravestones, and I haven't found it.
Uncle: Not all of the gravestones have rods next to them.
Me:...
Uncle: Are you there?
Me: Yeah. So how do I find it?
Uncle: Are you in front of the shed now?
He basically told me that if I stood in front of the shed, and walked to the corner of it and walked out at a 45 degree angle I should be right on top of in a few feet. It took me a while to figure out which 45 degree angle he meant, as if there are many different 45 degree angles. He said it was right next to someone else's headstone that was closest to the shed. I kicked the snow around the area I thought he was talking about and stopped when I saw my mom's name. I thanked my uncle and got down on my knees and started digging though the snow with my hands. I didn't have any gloves on, which made it an even more stellar idea.
Not quite sure why, but I actually needed to see the entire headstone. That need was made more difficult by the rather thick layer of ice that covered most of it. Because I had exasperated myself kicking huge snow holes around metal rods that turned out to be everyone but my mom, I became extremely upset. I got out the Altoids tin I had in my bag and started hacking at the ice. Violently hitting it with the side of my minty treats. The neighbors, if they were watching me still, were probably getting an eye full. Much better than the mid-Saturday TV programming.
People tend to react in odd ways when overcome by emotion. Like for example kneeling in the snow on a freezing winter day hacking at a loved one's gravestone with an Altoid box.
Which brings to mind:
A year or so after my mom died my stepdad decided to take the chiropractor, that the medical examiner thought contributed to the stroke that killed her, to court under a wrongful death lawsuit. There was a tear in my mom's carotid artery which, the M.E. thought, was caused by too many neck adjustments that were performed improperly. The trial lasted for five days.
On the third or fourth day, the prosecution was outlining what kind of monetary amount my mom was worth for the jury to consider when determining damages. The lawyer my stepdad hired said that because she made this much money and so on and so forth, X amount of dollars should be awarded to her family if the jury decided the chiropractor was at fault.
The defense got up and said no, she wasn't worth that much really, and broke down how much she was actually worth.
I don't know how you would react to people arguing over how much someone you loved was worth, but I was so disgusted by the idea I became physically nauseous. I nearly tripped over my sister on my mad dash to the bathroom.
Back to the original story:
I cleared the ice away and had forgotten that my stepdad opted to have his name put on the gravestone as well so he can be buried next to my mom when he dies.
I had found where my mom was buried, and many others as well. I got one of those "well that's that" feelings, and walked back to my car. I almost wanted to stop by my grandpa's grave, but decided against it because my socks were wet and my hands were a bit numb. It would be better if I waited until spring thaw.