The cemetery...

…is a depressingly busy place on Father's Day.

That was my overriding thought late yesterday afternoon, on Father's Day.

I'd asked Anna earlier in the weekend if she wanted to take flowers to the cemetery on Father's Day. We don't go there very often (we/I haven't been there since the fifth death anniversary last summer, I think), but Anna is usually pretty enthusiastic about taking flowers--which always surprises me a little. I guess I keep waiting for her to balk at the suggestion, to whine that it's boring…much like I did when I was a little kid and had to be dragged to places by my parents. But for now, she still finds it fun to take her dad flowers.

We first had a quick lunch at our favorite sandwich place near our house--something small and nice for me, mentally--and then we stopped at the upscale grocery store down the street from the cemetery to buy some flowers, as we always do. (I have no flowers in my yard at all, so we have to buy them every time.) She picked out pretty (and inexpensive) ones in her favorite color, pink. "Daddy is going to love these!" she exclaimed, as we drove into the cemetery gates. I privately noted her use of the present tense, and internally I could feel the divergent wrenching of my own heart and beliefs, of what her father believed. I just smiled and agreed with her.

We talked about random, cemetery-oriented things as we drove through its acreage. I pointed out the chapel where Charley's funeral had been held; explained that we were driving through a really old section of the cemetery, that it had been there well over one hundred years. But as we approached the newer section of the cemetery where Charley's niche is, I was stunned to see how many people were there. I don't remember so many people being there in years past…or perhaps I just haven't gone on Father's Day nearly as often as I think. (I know we went the first year, when Anna was just 20 months old…but have we gone since then? I really can't remember.) Judging by how surprised I was to see the scads of people, of fresh flowers and balloons emblazoned with Happy Father's Day! that were everywhere on tombstones, maybe I haven't gone much.

I prefer when it's just Anna and me (or just me) and a quiet, peaceful, empty cemetery. No such luck yesterday. All the people visiting dead fathers on Father's Day depressed me.

As we walked up to Charley's niche, I was struck by how much Anna's grown, by how impossibly tall she is these days, and how it completely jars with my internal sense of "normal" with her--that she should somehow still be 20 months old or almost 3 years old, a chubby cherub in a short sundress.

Yet she's most definitely not….






And lord help me, my daughter thinks the cemetery is primarily for taking pictures now, not much to do with the dead. (What kind of monster have I created? ;o)) Granted, for her, the desired act is always simply to take flowers to Daddy; once the flowers have been purchased and then placed in the vase at Daddy's niche, her goal has been accomplished. There's little else to do there…except take pictures, in her mind. On a day filled with so many cemetery visitors, though, I felt more than a little self-conscious to be taking pictures amongst benches, niches, and headstones. Yet it's our life, for better or worse, and frankly, I don't care what people think. We've earned our right, paid our dues, to do whatever the hell we want there (although I did eventually ask Anna to not walk or step totally on top of the headstones; I know the dead don't care, but their living family members sure might).

So I kept taking photos wherever she requested, even though I was done after only a few.







I asked Anna a few times if she wanted to say anything to her dad, but instead she fixated on some mysterious orange pollen that she'd gotten on her hands and clothes (presumably from the other flowers at the store) and that she wanted washed off. NOW. It wouldn't or couldn't wait. And when we couldn't get much of it off, she instead wanted photos. No tender, focused moments toward her dad for us, apparently. ;o)



And after more photos, we went home. My entire side of the family converged on my house this year for our typical Father's Day barbecue, because it was more centrally and conveniently located for my middle sister's family, who was coming home from my 11-year-old nephew's weekend-long baseball tournament an hour south of Portland. And we had a nice time at the barbecue--a thorough distraction, as family functions (and my huge family) usually are.

Father's Day rarely bothers me most years. (Mother's Day is always the bigger nemesis for me.) And while Father's Day didn't really trigger my grief buttons this year, I found myself thinking about Anna more than anything and how much I wish she could have known her father, could have remembered what a great daddy he was…and that she might display a little sadness or wistfulness that she didn't know him. Which always strikes me as being a little sadistic. I'm glad relieved that she doesn't really feel any grief for herself, that she doesn't hurt and ache because her father is dead…but it's a two-edged sword, because if she doesn't hurt or miss him at all, then his absence doesn't really mean anything to her; it's not much of a loss*. I've asked her a few times lately--mostly after she's said that she misses our dog, who's been dead for almost two years now--if she ever really thinks about her dad or misses him at all. And her answer is always no…and that's what stings sometimes. In some bizarre, Good Widow fashion, it makes me feel like I've failed Charley somehow*, that I've neglected to impress upon his child how much he loved her and what a great dad he was. *Which I know isn't really true--it's just her age and development, and how young she was when he died--but the illogical feeling is still there.

And after I reread what I've written about past Father's Day, I guess this year really did bother me more than it has previously. Mostly it just bothered me intellectually, not emotionally…which is probably splitting one too many hairs. I guess I'll chalk it up to the unsettledness and difficulties of the last few months…and maybe next year, I'll think to skip the cemetery.