
In 1990, as a young lieutenant I walked the fields of Gettysburg; places like “Seminary Ridge”, “the Angle”, “Peach Orchard”, “Devil’s Den” and “Little Round Top”. Standing there, I saw the battle, heard the roar, felt the shock of artillery, the sting of black powder on the nostrils, the snap of bullets. I saw death. It was a moment that reached deep into my soul as the imagery of the horror of those three days in 1863 gave meaning to the words “sacred ground”.
The walk to the cemetery to pick David’s burial plot was surreal. The ground radiated summer heat and the smell of new mown grass. Surrounded by family, I wasn’t supposed to be here. The church administrator held out a plot map. I glanced down and said “it needs to be near the soccer field and in the shade of a tree, David loved the shade”.
There on the map was a plot, #26 that was perfect. It was at the bottom of a hill and in the afternoon shade of an oak tree. We bought the plots on either side for Nancy and me so that one day we could lay in rest with our little boy. Until David died I had always associated “sacred ground” with war, religion and baseball. Now I had my own.
The first time I visited his grave after the funeral the symmetry of the mound of dirt and the bright flowers was all rather striking. It had a rather comforting feel to it. Nancy and I picked out a simple cross as a temporary marker and wrote David’s name on it. I committed that I would visit often, not to be separated by death but joined by it. Then the flowers faded, the earth sunk and death in all its ugliness glared at me.
A couple of months after he died, after a particularly heavy rain, I found that the earth had sunk severely. I panicked and my head filled with horrible thoughts at the jarring sight. “Was he wet? Was he scared?” I had an inexplicable urge to start digging to get him out. I stood and cried as hard as I ever had, my grief matched by the cold soaking rain. David was dead and he wasn’t coming back.
Eventually the sinking stopped and the grounds crew filled in the low spots and planted grass. In the spring grass began to grow in earnest and quickly the open wound of dirt was gone. The leaves bloomed, the smells of summer returned and we took one step forward.
Last fall on an evening visit I noticed the lights of the soccer field and the laughter of kids. I stood at the grave and saw a young child peeking over the fence of the soccer field looking at me. I smiled. That’s just how I envision David in heaven, surrounded by children.
We each bring our rituals to the cemetery. For AJ, its acorns and rolling down the hill, Ali comes alone when home from college. Nancy leaves candy. We’ve had snowball fights, eaten snow cones; we’ve laughed, cried, prayed and stood silently. Nancy and I have shared many tight embraces as we have watered the ground with our tears. I even was on a conference call once while standing at his grave. (David was so proud of my new job with HP).
Day after day I visit, parking in the same spot and standing at the same spot on the lower left side of his grave by his right knee. Standing there I have noticed small subtle changes, like the grass or the leaves, the weather and the angle of the sun. I pray and cry but mostly, I talk to David. “David, the leaves are changing. I know how much you loved the fall”...”AJ got a hit this week”…”deer season starts next week wish you were here”...”I miss your laughter”. I talk just in case he can hear me from heaven.
I have gotten to know who else was buried there. There is a young man who was killed while home from college, a baby who died at birth. The father who left a big family, the grandmas and grandpas who lived long lives. Each loved; a reflection of loss and a gentle reminder that we are not alone in our grief.
This week I stood at my usual spot and after a long hard winter felt the softening of the ground and first warm breeze. I saw robins poking for worms and a hint of green in the mostly brown grass. I picked up a handful of candy bars and faded flowers that had spent the winter under snow and leaves. I straightened the rosary crucifix someone left and put the acorns at the foot of the cross just like AJ likes them. It felt right.
Soon the leaves and flowers will return and with them the sounds of summer. Life moves on but David moves with us. I still talk to David when I’m there and I still pray. I don’t always cry but sometimes I do. To others in their daily lives this place is barely noticed. To me this is sacred ground.