Don't Forget To Remember Me

The grave sat alone and frail, words fading and stone crumbling. Vine-like fissures etch across its face. Isolation marked by overgrown grasses and a towering oak tree, there lies someone forgotten. Tree limbs protectively encase--or maybe hide--the fragility of the stone from the harsh, crushing grasp of a drastically changed world.

Remorsefully, I watch that grave as I stand over another. Of all the time I have visited this graveyard, I have seen no one visit the oak tree's gravestone. To sit so expectantly, as if its visitor will return any day now, must be exhausting. Waiting so long with no pay off or prize, what must that be like? The untimely, unfair desertion of the special memory of one's life tugs solemnly at my heartstrings. Dragging my eyes from the subject of my thoughts, I kneel delicately before the tombstone in front of me, the one I had come to visit in the first place. Tracing the curve of the carved, familiar name with my eyes, I reach for the bouquet of flowers that rest at the gravestone's feet.

Whispering, I address the grave, "Mind if I take one of these? It's for a friend."

A breeze ruffles by in response, leaves rustle and shake, grass blades shift lazily, as if the gravestone is answering back, "Of course I don't mind. Take two; even take three if you need to! Just remember to tell your friend I said hi!"

I gently free the stem of a yellow rosebud whose lush petals lay spread in full bloom, the height of any flower's beauty, before pushing myself into a standing position. I held the selected flower close, being mindful of its thorns all the while. Respectfully and diligently, I travel through the cemetery to the home of the forsaken grave. My journey is halted as I shuffle to a stop in front of the decrepit tombstone. Under the shade of the loving oak, I place the rose upon the grasping blades of grass, the brilliant, yellow petals glowing warmly in the long, flexible fingers of the clump of vegetation.

I hear the grasses sigh and the tree sigh. Even the stone gives a heavy sigh. The little world in which I stand no longer seems lonely. What is this feeling? It feels so familiar--so uplifting, so calming, so heartwarming. The feeling was contentment. The little corner of the graveyard seemed to tingle with the feeling, as if it appreciated my gesture. A serene feeling bubbled up inside me as I turned away from the grave. Trekking back across the silent cemetery, I head to my car, step in, and go through the motions of starting up the engine. I glance back at both of the graves, silently promising to visit again soon, as I pull away.