They don't say enough

While we were in Levittown picking out Emily's grave marker, I also made a trip to the cemetery. I had to run out to Wal-Mart to pick up something I had forgotten, and on the way back to my grandmother’s house, I found myself instead driving to the cemetery with two potted plants. Two yellow daisies for my two sisters.

I both like and dislike the fact that Emily is buried next to Rebecca. The only reason I don’t like it is because it’s so far away. I never thought I would be one to go “visit” the cemetery. After all, I know that Emily isn’t there. Her ashes are, but that spark that made her who she was is not there. But there’s something… comforting in a way to see it. I guess that’s what they call closure? I don’t know. But burying her here in Greencastle would have been worse- because we won’t be here forever. At least back in Levittown, she’s there with Rebecca and Laurie Beth.

And as I sat in front of the graves, I was feeling two very different types of loss for my sisters. The loss of an idea of a sister, and the actual loss of a sister. Rebecca lived for six days, and died two years before I was born. I've always felt the loss- but it's been the loss of an idea, not really a person. A loss of what might have been. But Emily, that's a loss like nothing I've ever felt before. It's the loss of someone I've known, loved, and lived with for 20 years. It's a loss of a link to my past, my childhood- and it's a loss of a lifetime of future memories.

You think strange things in a cemetery. That day I was thinking that those gravestones don't say nearly enough. They give you a name, a date of birth, and a date of death. Sometimes they say "Mother" or "Father", "Son" or "Daughter", etc. But it doesn't say anything about who that person was. Or what they were like. Or who it is they've left behind. Or how they died. Or how they made an impact while they were here. I looked at the nearby stones and wondered what each story was. I wondered if there were other members of their family buried near them. And I thought to myself that people walking by would see that there are two sisters buried next to each other, but would they know that Laurie Beth, who is buried near them, was their almost-two year old cousin that died the same year as Rebecca? Probably not, because those stones don’t say enough.

We bury our loved ones and mark their graves to leave a reminder to the rest of the world that they once were... but those stones don't say enough. That stone we picked out for Emily doesn't say that daisies were her favorite flower. Or that when she was little, she hated her name and wanted to be called Elizabeth. It doesn't say that she was as stubborn as the day is long, but that she had a heart of gold. It doesn’t say that she faced so many obstacles in her life, but she always seemed to make it through. It doesn't say that she couldn't wait to turn 21, and that she wanted to have a family. It doesn't say that she used to eat the feet off of her sister's Barbie dolls. Or that she had the best laugh. Or that she gave the worst dirty looks of anyone I've ever seen. Or that she could be the biggest pain in the butt. Or that she was at times my worst enemy, yet she was my biggest cheerleader. Or that she drove my parents nuts with worrying about her. That stone doesn't say that everyday her family and friends wake up missing her even more. It doesn't say that. It should.

And then I was wondering about some of the other people at the cemetery that day. There was a couple in their 70's who had a couple bouquets of flowers, and stopped at two or three graves. They were smiling and tidying up around them and stayed for 10 or 15 minutes. I wondered if from their demeanor and the way that they were talking and sometimes laughing that they might not be recent losses. Parents, maybe? Friends?

Then there was the man in his thirties that walked to one grave and stood for a minute, then quickly left. Was it a recent loss and still too painful to deal with?

I wondered about these people. I wondered what their stories were, and the stories about the people they were there remembering. I thought about walking over and reading the names on the graves that they had visited. But beyond a name and the dates, I wouldn’t learn anything else from those gravestones. Because those stones don’t say enough.

And I wonder too if they noticed the 20 something young woman who was sitting in front of a grave with two yellow daisies sobbing her heart out. Maybe they were wondering about the story of who I was and who I was there to see? And if they'd come over after I left, they'd have seen Rebecca's stone and the temporary marker with Emily's name and the dates, but that's all they'd ever know. Because those stones don't say enough.