The Cemetary – A place of peace.

 

The weekend my sister’s daughter died,

We were not thinking about

The angry caretaker.

We were not thinking about

The provincial government’s promise.

 

Her babe deteriorated

As her degenerative disease dictated.

Exhaustion

Became the most difficult hurdle.

She was just too tired

To be a kid and do kids’ things.

The time had come.

 

Five years after burying Mom

She had to bury her daughter, B.

 

We were totally unprepared,

For the message we received.

The angry caretaker,

Refused to allow,

Her daughter to be buried,

With our Mom as planned.

 

The angry caretaker was back.

The government had promised,

To take care of it.

Five years ago,

I had dealt with it,

I believed the angry caretaker,

To have been relieved from his duties.

 

I lost it.

All the sadness and anguish,

Pain and exhaustion,

I had been repressing,

Was birthed in response to this message.

It revealed itself as a rage from deep within me.

Emotion spewed from me,

I fell to the floor,

And allowed it all to come out.

 

With no inclination of holding anything back.

I yelled, swore and cried.

I scared my kids.

I didn’t once consider

Anyone else’s feelings.

 

I heard her calling my name.

She spoke calmly,

My temper tantrum ceased.

I had to calm down

In order to hear her.

My sister took charge.

 

With a tone of finality,

She announced

A different cemetery

Would be used.

She calmed me.

Her daughter had just died

And yet,

She had the solution,

And,

She.   Calmed.   Me.

 

She promised she was ok,

With her daughter being alone.

She promised she was ok,

With her daughter not being with Mom.

She gave me permission to not try and fix this.

She gave me permission to NOT be the family advocate.

 

We all wanted B to be with Mom.

We were reeling in the pain of losing her.

She knew I had no fight left in me.

Because neither did she.

Mom and B had left this world

And took with them,

Any strength to advocate further.

 

 

After her daughter’s funeral,

We reburied Mom again.

We couldn’t leave her there,

And B needed her.

Mom now rests,

Beside her granddaughter,

As my sister had always wanted.

The gravestone marks their plot eloquently.

 

(The angry caretaker died the following year.

The government never followed through with my complaint.)