There are many different religious traditions and opinions about visiting cemeteries. Being raised Catholic and still a practicing Catholic, I routinely visit cemeteries for holidays, other special days, and sometimes at the spur of the moment. When I was young, I was intrigued by the very old gravestones at the cemetery where my paternal grandparents are buried. I wondered about the time period in which these people had lived and felt a twinge of sadness when I came across a child’s grave. Chuck and I would make our cemetery trek to St. Dominic’s Cemetery, where my parents and grandparents are buried, and to Resurrection Cemetery, where his parents and sister are buried, bringing flowers, sharing memories, and saying a silent prayer before we left. Sometimes we felt sadness, but mostly it was reflective and cathartic.

Last week, Chuck’s headstone was set on his grave. I received a message late Tuesday afternoon that it had been placed earlier than expected, and on Wednesday after school, I took a ride to St. John Neumann Cemetery to see the stone. I wasn’t sure how I would feel or react to seeing his name (and mine) etched in stone, but it was somehow very comforting.

I know that Chuck is not in that grave, that his body is present, but his soul is in heaven, yet, with the setting of the stone came the peace of knowing that Chuck’s name is sent out into the world every time someone reads the memorial. Some people who read it will have memories of Chuck; others might wonder who he was, like I did when I was a child visiting St. Dominic’s.

Standing at Chuck’s grave, looking at his name on the stone, brought me a sense of connection. The stone was one last gift to my beloved, honoring the bond that remains between us. It turned out better than I could have hoped, and I think Chuck would approve because it is simple in design, just the way Chuck lived his life.

Some days, when I visit Chuck’s final resting place, I cry and feel deep sadness, thinking about the huge void his passing left in my life. Some days, it is a silent cry with tears gently rolling down my cheeks. Other times, it becomes an ugly cry that has me retreating to my car so as not to make a spectacle of myself. But last week, I felt calm knowing I would keep his legacy and story alive.

Love Lives On…