It seems to me so strange that I feel just as comfortable and at home behind a John Deere tractor hauling hay, listening to Dierks Bentley, as I am riding the El through the loop, listening to Jack's Mannequin on my ipod...
There are things that I miss about the city when I am at home for a few days:
I miss the skyline and the feeling of people everywhere
I miss the excitement and energy and all that there is to do
I miss the beach
I miss the family that I have in the city
There are things I miss about the country when I am in the city:
I miss being able to see a full sunset
I miss the sound of crickets
I miss lightning bugs
I miss farm boys with their shirts off (ha ha)
I miss my family
It really is strange for me to never be fully happy no matter where I am. There will always be something missing for me. I guess it is good that I can go back and forth fairly often and literally enjoy the best of both worlds. Last night, I got to enjoy dinner with my dysfunctional family. Let me give you a taste of our dysfunctional conversation: (Thank goodness the food was good...)
Mom: My mom didn't like you, Terry. She always said I should just divorce you.
Dad: She liked me.
Mom: No she didn't. Every time I went down there she would always say, 'Why don't you just divorce him.'
Dad: That's not how I understood it.
(Meanwhile I watch my grandmother ((my dad's mom)) sitting across from mom with a rather pained look on her face. She quickly sides with my dad)
Grandma: She liked Terry.
Mom: No she didn't.
(There is no point in arguing with mom. The conversation switches...)
The drive home was beautiful. The sun was sinking over the cornfields in the west, hidden by walls of great clouds. There was a break in the clouds, and the sunlight poured through in shafts, falling in beams from the heavens, looking glorious. Shades of blue and pink stained the sky and the clouds and I thought out loud, "Definitely no creator behind that..." I enjoyed the car ride silently appreciating the handiwork of God, admiring the rays of sun that dotted the western end of the world.
Today, I drove back to my grandparents house for lunch. I dealt with the normal barrage of questions concerning my sudden break up.
"How did Arni take it?"
"Okay I guess."
"Whose idea was it?"
"It was kind of mutual, but my idea."
"Are you done for good?"
"Probably, grandma."
I don't need to be constantly reminded of what a great guy he was. I wish that we could have worked out. I already feel like crap about it. I broke his heart. I broke my heart. And apparently I broke the heart of his family and mine as well...
After eating lunch with my grandparents, they wanted to go the Ladoga Cemetery. I remember the last time that my grandma asked me to go the cemetery. It had been years ago. I sat on the laundry machine in the laundry room. She had explained to me that her and grandpa's head stone had already been placed at the cemetery. The thought of seeing their graves made my stomach turn, even though I knew they were alive and well. I didn't want to think of my grandma and grandpa dying. So as a young girl, I fought back tears and politely declined going with them to place flowers of the graves of my great great grandparents. My grandpa assured me, "There ain't no ghosts out there!" I meekly replied, "I know." My grandma hushed my grandpa, seeing my distress, and allowed me to stay home. I didn't even want to ever drive past that cemetery again.
Now, as a twenty year old, my grandma ventured asking me again. "We sure would like it if you would come to the cemetery with us." I balked. I thought about it for a moment. Maybe I wouldn't have to see the tell tale head stone. Perhaps I could just occupy myself reading the engravings on others. My grandpa spoke up. "There ain't no ghosts out there!" I meekly replied, "I know." My grandma hushed grandpa, and waited expectantly for my reply. I thought to myself, 'You are twenty years old, Sanyelle! You can handle this.' I accepted.
Upon arriving at the cemetery, I looked out across the small plot of land that it occupied, between a corn field and the woods. I noticed some confederate flags marking three graves. This concept is so strange to me. Indiana is very much a part of the north. I wonder if these were soldiers who fought in the civil war for the south. I wonder if that was so, if they turned in their graves at the notion of being buried in the north.
I noticed monuments with the urn partially covered with a veil. I could vaguely remember looking up that it meant after I visited Graceland Cemetery in Chicago. I asked Cha-Cha what it meant, just to be sure. The urn or vase represents flowers or leaves, which represent death. The veil represents mourning. Another interpretation of the common symbol is the departure of the soul from the body. On one of the monuments, engraved in the marble was a quote that I could barely decipher.
"Watchman, tell us of the night what its signs of promise are beyond the ------- of this veil, lo the morning dawns."
Watchman Tell Us of the Night is a hymn, but only the first part of this quote is part of the hymn.
I wondered across the breadth of the cemetery after stopping at the grave of Dessie Mae and Jesse E. Spencer, my grandmother's grandmother. As I walked across the cemetery, I paused at a small stone marked with color. It read the name of a girl with only one date: January 5, 1989. She was born 21 days before me. She would have been 2o years old like me. I wonder what pain she was spared from in only having one day on earth, if she even had that. I looked up, and noticed the stone to its right. On it read:
Marylyn Sandusky and William Sandusky
Parents of Janet and Terry
I paused and allowed my eyes to linger. I swallowed, turned, and walked away. The sun was incredibly hot. I was uncomfortable. I watched as my grandma and my great aunt swept off the head stones of their parents and cousins. I was intrigued as my grandma walked over to her own head stone and swept it clean and remarked about the bird droppings on it. "The birds are already after us!" she joked. I wasn't all that amused.
I'm not bothered all that much by death. Cemeteries don't creep me out. I just don't like being reminded of the fact that my beloved grandparents won't be around much longer. Aside from the absurdity of one very much alive person cleaning off their own head stone, the cemetery was rather peaceful. I reflected on the idea of the finality of death. Someday, my body would be buried in the earth, but it wasn't all that significant. The beauty of the death is the life that I know I will have beyond it.
I will be with my grandparents and parents. There won't be dysfunctional conversations around the table at the Marriage Supper...
On the drive home, I rolled down my windows and enjoyed the smell of country and summer. I listened to Bubble Toes and sang along happily. When Big 'N Rich came on, I indulged, with a sense of abandon.
This is my life... full of moments that are unique to only me and at the same time, common to all humanity.
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