Stone

Yesterday afternoon, in the middle of my very safe work day, I got an email from the funeral home director informing me that Matt's gravestone had been placed in the garden.  The garden. Gravestone.

I actually had to design it.  Like the plans for a house or a commissioned piece of art, they asked me for my vision and there was a series of back and forth emails, proofs, confirmations, etc.   I am 30 and I have already designed my husband's gravestone.  I held his hand while he died.  I watched them close the casket.  I designed his gravestone.  These are the things of nightmares. 

I want to see it, make sure they didn't screw it up, be close to something I can look at that represents him.  Now that I know it is actually there, I can't stop thinking about visiting it, but I just can't do it yet.  With my close friends, I think I spill a lot of information about myself - maybe too much.  With anyone outside that circle, I gather lately that I must seem a little guarded.  This blog is certainly the exception.  I have no idea who reads it, but sending it out into the world seems to take a little weight out of my situation.  But being a private griever, as I have always known I am, doesn't really seem to match up with going to a public garden to visit.  Maybe it's just too unreal that this is my life, maybe visiting his grave makes me feel like I am now just a cliche, or maybe I'm worried someone else will ruin my moment with him. Maybe I'm worried I won't feel any different than I do now, on my couch, staring at the Direct TV screen saver bouncing around the television screen. I worry that when I go there it is just going to be me, full of sorrow, in the grass, staring at a stone. What I want to feel is how I felt when he would make me feel better...about anything... just by being near.  

I tried to make the stone represent him, but how do you embody your most important person, your biggest loss, your happiest moments in a few symbols?  Not possible.  With no other choices but to think it through or draw out the painful process by avoiding it, I chose a fleur de lis because he loved them after living in New Orleans.  The metal clock in our living room is textured with them.  We bought a New Orleans flour de lis ornament for our Christmas tree when we were on our honeymoon.  He gravitated toward them always.  I have recently learned that the fleur de lis is also a sign of resilience which is nice to know.  On either side of the symbol I asked them to place three horizontal stripes.  The designer found this a strange request, but I don't care.  The stone is black marble and the etching is white.  These horizontal lines are my subtle nod to referee stripes because it was his biggest and most passionate pursuit outside of family.   I really hope he would have liked it.  I really hope I am strong enough to carry myself to see it soon.

Tomorrow marks three terrible months of missing him.