A Trip to the Cemetery

On my recent trip to Portland, I experienced many moments of sorrow and angst. We are grappling with selling the condo where Ben had lived during his few independent years. It embodied the dream of him living on his own.

Since his passing, we have converted it to our own landing spot when away from Sitka. It’s very small and comfortable, but we’ve recently thought we should sell it and find a place that’s a little bigger, and more accommodating for enjoying extended time there.

But the condo itself holds such memories. On this trip, I would find myself crying in bed, thinking of Ben sleeping in that very room. I’d enter the condo and think about all the visits with him that begun walking through that hallway. And I sat on the couch watched Star Trek, which I had done so many times with him, but hadn’t had the courage to do since he’s been gone.

How could I ever sell this little condo that holds so many big memories?

This is the town where Ben’s ashes are as well. They are in a glassed-in niche inside a mausoleum where we placed his urn, a photo and a memorial plaque.

I have been reticent about going to Ben’s final resting place. I had always pictured visiting the dead as sitting next to an ivory headstone on a grassy hill under a tree. Like in the movies. It’s not like that at a mausoleum. It’s weird, surrounded by granite-faced crypts with engraved names and dates. In the glass niche section, you see photos and elaborate urns of mostly old people behind glass, lovingly arranged by those left behind. It’s like a little museum of the dead. I kind of hate it. And kind of love it too.

Nevertheless, I went there, to the cemetery, because I happened to be driving by and had been having such indecisiveness about selling his condo. I thought I might sit and “talk to him” for answers.

It was over 100 degrees that day, and I was glad to enter the cool, dim, granite-walled room. I walked around the corner to his spot, bent down, and peered through the glass. Ben’s photo stared back at me, his face actually glowing from the little strip light they put in there. I hadn’t noticed that light strip before. Not all the niches are lit. His eyes looked into mine with such love, kindness and openness. I love that picture. When I took it I knew he didn’t have much time left, but he didn’t know that. He was just enjoying watching the sunset with us off our back deck next to the fire pit.

“Hey there Ben,” I whispered so no one would hear me, even though there was not a soul in the place. Well, there were no living souls there at least. “Um, what should I do about selling your old condo.”

Then my eyes drifted over to his galaxy urn, around it, a favorite ring of his on a chain. I was so sorrow-filled shopping for an urn, a task no mother should have to do. But then I was so happy when I found that one with stars and nebulas and far-away galaxies. My eyes then went to his memorial plaque that I had made to put in the display with his name and dates. Under his name I had written a small epitaph, that I now took in two years later, trying to divine some answer. “To Boldly Go…” it begins.

“Where God Holds His Soul,

The Stars Hold His Spirit,

And Our Hearts Hold His Legacy of Simple Faith and Joy.

Our Sweet Ben.”

And then this is what I heard in my heart:

“Mom, go boldly. Know my soul is held by the God we both know. Look to the stars that we loved gazing at to see my spirit. Feel my legacy living on in your heart.  You know where I am. I am not in that condo. It’s okay to move on.”

I stood, shaking my head a bit, and hurried out, late for my next visit with friends. But when I prayed in the early morning hours the next day, I could feel a shifting. I felt God’s words now filling me. “My daughter, you are not throwing Ben away by selling the place where he briefly lived. His sweet memories live inside you now. They live in enjoying the things he enjoyed. They live when you exhibit his kindness and simple faith. Go boldly. I am with you.”

I wondered what next thing God had in store for me if I surrendered that place, even with all the memories. Whenever I would express one of my hare-brained ideas to Ben, he would often admonish me: “Mom, I can tell that’s what you really want. Go for it!” God is like that with me sometimes as well. In fact I’m pretty sure His spirit is behind some of those wild ideas. He knows my heart’s desires. He knows I’m anxious about reckless decisions and change. But He’s always got me. Even in hard changes and rash decisions.

It’s probably no coincidence that I had I happened to walk by a cute house for sale in a quaint neighborhood I’ve always pictured myself in. Maybe that place would be a step forward, where new memories could be made. There’s a fire pit and an open sky to gaze at the stars. Ben would love it there.

I think we’re selling the condo.