Give attention to loved ones while they’re alive

My wife, Marie, was buried in Zion Hill Cemetery a little over four years ago. It is pretty primitive as cemeteries go, but that’s where her folks are, and that’s where she wanted to be.

I won’t ever be taking a place beside her, as I have opted for cremation, and I guess I can’t see any sense in taking up all that good space when all that’s left of me is a pound or two of ashes.

I rather like the idea of having my remains set free in the wind, of drifting about until I settle in Washtucna or Republic, or maybe even some exotic destination like Idaho.

Or perhaps I’ll blow on up to Green Bluff and help to nourish and become part of a strawberry that some youngster will find too big and too sweet to eat in one bite, and the red, fragrant juice will run down his chin and stain the front of his T-shirt.

Yes, I think I’d like that a lot.

People have a lot of different preferences for how their earthly remains shall be disposed, but as far as I can see, it doesn’t make a whole lot of difference. I only wish we mortals didn’t have to make decisions like that.

All said, I’d rather be almost anything than “dearly departed,” though I do distinctly remember a 12-minute slice of my adolescent life during a spring piano recital when death seemed pretty appealing.

I have been back to Zion Hill only three times to tidy up and plant a few flowers, and even with Memorial Day this weekend, I’ll probably be elsewhere; it’s a personal thing.

I’m pretty sure my visits don’t make Marie feel any better, and I guarantee they don’t do anything for me. As with my wife, I also loved my parents dearly, but I haven’t been back to their graves, either.

I gave all of them my respect and my devotion while they were living. There are no regrets, nothing I wish I had done differently, nothing to confess now.

Memorial Day is a special time set aside to acknowledge our losses and honor those we’ve lost, and I know there are good sons and daughters and spouses who take comfort in sitting by gravesides and talking.

But I never was much of a conversationalist in the first place; it’s pretty unlikely I’m going to become chatty sitting in a cemetery.

I was at a Spokane hospital a few weeks ago to be with a friend who was losing his sister to a terminal illness. Together in life, this family had lived and loved and laughed.

In death, there were no regrets beyond the obvious loss.

The whole family was there, and the feeling of sadness was tempered somewhat with murmured stories and even some gentle laughter. There was calmness, an acceptance that comes only when you must let go of someone who knew they were cherished.

In the same waiting room was a group of people who also were losing a loved one. These were angry people, however – belligerent and accusing: “The damn doctor doesn’t know what he’s doing,” I heard. “And those nurses are just putting in a shift.”

These people were loud and profane, and I was embarrassed for them and sorry for their loved one. I heard them threaten lawsuits, and I couldn’t help but think, “Here is a family with guilt. I’ll bet most of these ‘mourners’ have not spoken to the patient this week.”

If you treat a loved one well while he or she is living, letting go need not be chaotic and mean-spirited. Guilt compounds grief.

Blaming someone else for our shortcomings has become the American way.

What? You didn’t visit your mother in the nursing home but once a week? And you say you probably could have made her more comfortable with new socks, but it seemed like such a waste when she didn’t appear to know the difference?

Well, wail and gnash your teeth now. Make a scene and curse the doctor and sue the hospital! That will prove your devotion.

For a little while, you probably can fool almost everyone but yourself.