Saturday, June 30, 2012

Our Exhumations Could be Complicated

Dear John,

Our backwardness was by design. And no, it wasn't personal. Fred said that in that cemetery, they place the headstones so that the names are read from behind the graves rather than across them. That way, when you go to read a headstone, you are standing on a stranger's grave rather than one of a family member. I do hope Goshen has very few exhumations; they could be challenging.

So I told him that in all of my family cemeteries - and being southern, there are lots of them - the print always faces the grave. I suppose that way when the last trumpet sounds and you rise right out of the ground, you can check the stone in case you don't remember your middle initial or something. Fred was floored that I've never in my life seen headstones facing away from the graves. He is being very nice - this evening after the office closed, he spent an hour turning it around. The only problem is that your name will be over my side and my name will be over your side. But we can sort out where we want to be under the cover of sod and no one need be any the wiser. And if either one of us ever gets exhumed, they will surely be able to tell us apart by gender, and by your metal plates and screws and hardware.

On a different note, I was putting some of Jen's laundry away and came across a pair of your boxer shorts that she sleeps in sometimes. I picked it up, buried my face in it, and cried. (I promised Jen that I will not do that when she is wearing them.) Sometimes little things hit me unexpectedly. I washed, dried, folded, and put away those shorts so many times for you. I'm glad to see Jen in them, but felt like I should be folding them for you, putting them in your closet.

I miss doing your laundry. It is sad to clean the bathrooms and find the underside of the toilet lid is perfectly clean. I clean the sinks and there is no hair in them. I have so little laundry now, so little cooking, so little shopping. I'd give anything in this world to do those things for you again. I only do for myself now, and that has no meaning. I'm hard pressed to think of anything that has meaning without you. Only church, but that is not without you - the church on Earth always worships with the church in Heaven, so you are there every time. And I do find meaning at church. Everywhere else, I feel like I've died already so nothing means anything to me.

But enough about my pathology. I love you, I miss you, I want to wash your underwear again. I look forward to resting under our headstone with you. We won't care which name is over which one of us. Love you forever,
Joan.

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