Saturday, December 12, 2015

Tis The Season

It is well known in our little town that my husband walks the streets of Quincy, trying to get in his exercise, and honestly, I think, a little bit of socializing. Because there is rarely a time when he leaves out for his four mile walk that he doesn’t come home telling me who he came across, what his conversations were or relaying hello’s from mutual friends.

Part of his route takes him into the curves and bends of one of our local cemeteries. He likes to walk that route particularly for those deep curves and bends, but he also likes to stop every now and again and speak to old friends.

As my husband makes his regular trek through Hillcrest during the week, he’ll speak to our old friend “Big Rick” Gleaton, and “Mr. Gene” Williams his old lunch-eating partner when Kittrell’s was still open for business; both of who now rest peacefully there.

All that might sound a little strange to some, because I realize that a lot of people aren’t particularly fond of cemeteries. But my husband will tell you real quick like, “It’s not the dead that you need to be worried about”. I think it brings him comfort to be able to “visit” every now and again, people that he thought the world of when they were still here.

But this morning he had a little bit of a scare. As he entered the cemetery there was a car parked towards the front and there was a lady sitting in it, obviously grieving and distressed, as she was crying pretty heavily. He continued on, but when he made his rounds and he came back out, she was still sitting there in her vehicle, and still crying.

Now my husband is not a prying man, nor is he one to get-up into someone’s business; but something about the whole deal didn’t set right with him so he tapped on the window and waited as she rolled it down.

He said she was crying so hard he could barely understand her but he thought he understood her to say she was there to see her daughter, as it was the anniversary of her death. As she continued to sob, she also said her husband was buried there, as was the rest of her family.

In that few minutes that he had her attention, my husband tried to say something that hopefully felt right enough to bring her comfort, but it bothered him enough that he repeated the incident to me when he got home. 

The holidays can be so very hard for everybody sometimes, but especially hard for people who have lost loved ones, and so very hard for those who have lost loved ones too soon. It’s important that we all stay ever-aware of those people who pass through our lives who may be suffering from loneliness, depression or extreme sorrow. 

That story of sadness has certainly stayed with me today; you just never know who needs a kind word or a listening ear, more than they need anything else in the world. 

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