CATHOLIC BROAD CONTEMPLATES RIP TOMBSTONE

As a Catholic Broad in her early 70s, my mortality is rather staring me in the face, especially after 3 kinds of cancer, 2 surgeries, chemo, and then developing an autonomic nervous system disorder from said events.

In the early years of our marriage, Rick and I used to love to visit old cemeteries, read the names on the stones, the dates, and whether they were the beloved spouse of someone or a "relic," a child who died from a fever, or other causes. The stones were so beautiful with their death's heads on them, twining vines, and archaic script chiseled into the slate.  I even still have some of the rubbings we did, and I cherish them. They are stories told in stone.

Fast forward to when I came into the Catholic Church, largely under the influence of a beloved priest, Fr. Gene, and the beauty of the Mass, the liturgy, and the Sacraments. Once when talking about being buried or cremated and how our church looked at both options (cremation ok now, used to be not ok), Fr. Gene said, "It's important to have a place in the ground where people can go, visit, and remember. Maybe say a prayer or two."

Have I visited my dad's and mom's graves in the nearby cemetery? A few times I have. Sometimes I have said a prayer and hoped they were at the "beer and shrimp table" in heaven, as opposed to the "cheese whiz and ritz crackers table," as Anne Lamott so cleverly put it.

 I like knowing that their bodily remains are right down the road, and if I so wish, I can go there, see the ground over their graves, and feel connected.

So now, at my age, I have to gather courage and buy a plot in the cemetery. It is astonishingly expensive to put one's remains into the earth. I have friends who have scattered the ashes of their husbands and/or parents into the ocean and felt good about it. Not me, however. I don't like the idea of being scattered to the four winds or the salt water. 

I want something concrete, earthy. Our plot will have room for 4 urns, should anyone else in the family wish to be there. Somehow I doubt it. I also doubt anyone close to us will want to come visit our graves. 

Nevertheless, she persisted. And sometimes, when I am getting my steps in on our flat deck (necessary now with my broken toe), I think not just about food and what I will cook and how I wish Trump would have a heart attack, but also about what to have carved on my tombstone. "She loved life!" is one I thought of. "God came & she embraced him." Not so good, also not crazy about God always being male. This is what I came to this morning, and I think it is perfect:

"On my way, God!" That says it all. I will be going home to the person who created me, sustained me during my many years--both good and bad--and now it is time to leap into God's arms with a glad cry, Here I Am Baby! Love You Forever!