Through My Sister's Eyes - Part III

Making choices

When we finally arrived at Mom and Dad’s house in Old Town, Bill and I were emotionally exhausted from the long drive and the visit to the police station. Fortunately Bill had been spared the emotional trauma of having to identify Diane’s body. After all, how many out-of-town accident victims with full identification could have died in a small Florida town?

My parents were in a worse emotional state than either Bill or I. Certainly losing a wife or sister is a terrible tragedy, but nothing could be worse than losing a child. As much as my heart ached for my loss, it ached a thousand times more for my parents. We spent the next few hours comforting each other and reminiscing about Diane.

When the time was appropriate Bill brought out three dresses that he had chosen as possibilities for Diane’s burial. I had recognized two of them, but not the third. Personally, it didn’t matter to me which she would wear because they were all quite suitable. I do recall thinking about a color scheme though. For no apparent reason, I had suddenly developed a favorite. It became very important that the soft neutral rose-colored dress be chosen. The colors were neutral, but with a soft rose hue that played prominently in the brocade fabric.

We also chose the jewelry that she would wear. I remembered feeling that she was partial to certain pieces. Was it because I had seen her wearing them? I had no idea. All I know is that I voted for what I felt were her preferred pieces. In fact, somehow I knew they were.

At that point, I hadn’t learned to recognize when Diane was letting me know what she wanted and influencing the choices I made. It turned out that those initial choices had paved the way for additional funeral decisions after we returned to Miami. There was so much that Bill and I would learn about my dead sister’s decision making over the next few days.

Take for instance, Diane’s burial plot. As a couple, they had never made decisions about their final resting place or funeral arrangements. Bill had no burial plots, so that was the first thing that needed to be purchased after he decided where the memorial service would be and who would officiate.

As much as I’ve always disliked being a part of preparations for death, I had obligated myself to help him with the decisions, so it was Bill and I who shopped for a grave site.

We started looking for the cemetery plot first, later it would be a visit to the mortuary to select a casket, and then to choose the flowers.

Bill drove us to an established cemetery that was relatively close to their home in Pinecrest. He had decided to purchase a family cemetery plot so, in the event anything happened to him or either of the children, the plots would be together. That was a good plan but it made for a limited selection.

We drove into the parking area of the main building at the cemetery. The grounds were lush and green with mature trees and beautifully manicured shrubbery. It wasn’t a large office, but ample for two employees and a receptionist. A very gracious lady greeted us, and when Bill explained his needs, she walked us out to a golf cart and drove us to a specific area of the cemetery with plots that were available for purchase.

The ride was smooth, at first, on the paved roadway. Then the ride became bumpier as we moved into a new area of the cemetery that had recently been opened. There was a lot of construction on the roadways and some planting of small bushes and fledgling trees. Mostly it was open fields. Bill mentioned later that those plots were considerably less money, and that it would eventually be landscaped like the established areas were. At least that’s what the saleslady had told him.

Bill walked with the saleslady to see some plots while I walked in another direction, casually glancing at the grave markers. The majority bore foreign names that I struggled to pronounce; many were Hispanic names. I began to frantically search the rows of markers for names that were more familiar – perhaps family names. No such luck.

As I wandered around the area I became more and more agitated. I had no idea what made me upset, but it slowly increased into a feverish anger. The walk somehow turned into an ethnic crusade. What had come over me?

Eventually I got a grip on myself and realized that I wasn’t the one who was angry. It was Diane’s emotions that I had been feeling. She didn’t like it there and she was letting me know, in no uncertain terms. When she was alive she had so vehemently opposed the influx of illegal aliens into the Miami area, and the foreign residents pushing for Spanish as a first language. She was American through and though, but was probably a bit prejudiced also. Diane firmly believed that if people from other countries came to America in pursuit of their dreams of freedom and prosperity, they should respect the English language and learn to speak it.

Regardless, Diane was upset that Bill had been considering this area instead of the beautiful, established part of the cemetery that she liked; just for the sake of frugality. Diane had no qualms’ about her husband spending a lot of money, especially when it was on her. She could have cared less that he was thinking he could save several thousand dollars. She was furious at him!

Bill took advantage of a lull in their conversation and walked over to ask me what I had thought about the plots. I glanced over where the he had left the saleslady standing and told him exactly what I thought or, more precisely, what Diane had thought. “Bill”, I said, “Diane doesn’t like this area at all.”

I explained to him about foreign names on most of the grave markers, the new grounds with no grass or mature landscaping, the construction, and all the things that she didn’t like. It lacked the dignity and grace that Diane wanted. She intensely disliked this area and I told him about the extreme feelings that she had – the feelings that she had put inside of me, so I would know exactly how she felt about being buried there.

Bill contemplated my response briefly and decided to move on to other sections to see what else was available.

We got back into the golf cart and our saleslady drove on. She wasn’t offended that we hadn’t selected a plot in that area and, in fact, suggested that she might have the perfect solution for our needs.

It was a substantial drive, back through the new area and across various ‘neighborhoods’ until we finally stopped in a very lovely area with traditional gravestones and mature shade trees. The landscaping was pristine with rows of hedges that divided the groups of plots like a maze. The hedges were trimmed with military precision.

Jostled from the ride, we exited the cart and followed our leader to some plots that were conspicuously empty in that mature resting area. I noticed the names on the memorials as we passed each grave stone. There were names like Johnson, Clark, and Murphy – last names that were familiar. I felt no anger here, no negative feelings at all.

I walked over and stood on the vacant soil of the plots that were for sale. Peaceful, content feelings immediately rushed into my being. A warm breeze crossed my face and gently brushed my hair. Diane liked that place a lot and would be very happy there. She had no objections to her body resting at that spot … forever.

Bill came over and asked me what I thought of this place. What I thought? If he only knew that it was all Diane’s decision. The question should have been what had Diane thought of it. With true sincerity I said, “Bill, Diane likes it here. She likes it a lot.”
My positive response seemed to be all the encouragement that Bill needed to make a decision on the purchase. We returned to the golf cart and the saleslady drove us back to the office to sign the papers and complete the transaction. That should have been an easy procedure.