Making it official

One of the reasons I went to Texas in February was to buy my gravestone. This was something I'd been wanting to do for some time, but had held off partly because of the expense, and partly because buying your tombstone (and/or grave plot) seems like an official inner acknowledgment that you're going to die. So o.k., it looks like I'm going to die.

And when I die, I want to be buried next to my husband. Unfor-tunately, my husband is buried, most inconveniently, in the small town of Terrell, thirty miles east of Dallas. Leaving aside the fact that I live in Maine, the largest number of family members live in San Antonio, a six-hour drive from Terrell. I also have a sister in Colorado Springs, a brother in Santa Fe, and one in Connecticut. How eager is any of them going to be to have to make arrangements for a funeral in little ol' Terrell, especially if somebody also has to schlep to Maine to pick up my "cremains" (the appalling term they use for what's left of you after you are cremated).

So I figured that if I went ahead and had my gravestone made and installed, the family would be more likely to honor my wishes about where I want to be buried, instead of just planting me wherever it was most convenient. (This, mind you, would not be done out of a lack of love or respect, but simply because the rest of my family lives as financially precarious an existence as I do, and they have to be as practical as possible.) Since I have told everyone I want to be cremated (which I actually don't – I would much rather my casket and bones be available to eager anthropologists, thousands of years from now – but it's unquestionably the most practical choice for a Starving Librarian, with an equally strapped family), all they will have to do is carry the small box containing my cremains to the site, say a few words, hopefully some of them amusing, and have the funeral home bury the box in front of the stone that will already be in place. And, oh yes, they'll have to fork up $100 to have my death date etched on the stone.

My friend Joey was surprised that I couldn't handle these arrange-ments over the Internet. Perhaps I could have, that and/or the telephone. In fact. I had called the funeral home a couple of weeks before my trip, to inform them that I wanted the same kind of stone as my husband, and when I would be in town to sign the necessary papers and pay the necessary money. I wanted to go in person be-cause this kind of major purchase is not something I would want to do either electronically or over the phone, and because I was wanting to visit my husband's grave anyway,

One of the drawbacks to living in Maine (and being a S.L.) is that I am unable to visit Micheal's grave more often than every couple of years. For me, it's a gesture of respect to, shall we say, put in an appearance. Here I am, Micheal, I haven't forgotten you. I always like to set out a couple of new artificial flower arrangements (fresh flowers are nice, but last no time at all), make sure the place is tidy. Making sure a grave looks nice says to the world, here is someone who was loved, cared about.

But who is that assertion for? Does the world really care? Would I be upset if I drove through a cemetery and there were no flowers on any of the graves? I think...yes. It seems to be a selfless act, an act honoring the memory of a loved one, and the absence of such acts would suggest a colder, more sterile world. Admittedly, the memory that is being honored will last only as long as the person, or persons, with the memory last. Then the grave will become nothing but a curiosity for those folks – like myself – who like to wander through cemeteries, reading headstones. But that's o.k. Then the markers will speak for themselves. Micheal's grave says, "Beloved of Melody." Mine will say, "The traveler rests." That will sum us up nicely, I think.

There's also the possibility that the loved one himself, or herself, may be out there, hovering in the ether, appreciating the gesture. I'm skeptical about this, but it's one area in which I would love to find that I was wrong.

So they've been encouraging us to get out there and spend, to help get the economy moving again. This was my rather odd contribution to the economy: the purchase of a (for me) very expensive grave marker. I would rather have purchased two business-class air fares to Paris, for my sister and myself (I had promised her I would take her to Paris for her 50th birthday, and she is now 58), but I guess the economy will take what it can get.