X - The Last Word
We turned onto the winding road towards the “new” Mennonite cemetery. My father would be laid to rest in Steinbach, the town he had so eagerly wanted to escape during his life.
I unwrapped myself from the blankets in the back of the SUV. My brother’s vehicle had only two heat settings, full blast or nothing. Vin had driven respectfully and Mom was happy to have him by her side. I opened the door and stepped out into the freezing cold temperature, -23°C to be exact, thankful there was no wind. The prairie sunlight stretched the tombstones’ shadows into blue elongated strips. At 4 pm the sun was already setting and reminded me of the short days ahead. My father loathed the cold. Cremation would have been much more suitable but the flames were too symbolically charged to warrant that choice. I want my body placed on a rugged scaffold made with old logs facing the stars so my spirit can go north, like the Iroquois did in this region of Canada. But alas, I digress.
Some of the grandkids, including my daughter and son, carried the casket. It quickly became apparent they would need help and soon my brothers joined. They placed the heavy casket onto the straps suspended above the frozen hole. A moment of silence and then the minister spoke. Who gave him the final words?
“We are gathered here to say good bye to Abe, loving husband, father, grandfather, great-grandfather, brother-in-law, friend. We are left to mourn but we, we as believers are comforted from intense sorrow for we know we will see Abe again.”
“Argh?!” I felt my daughter’s heavy coat press up against mine and allowed my body to relax. Had I actually growled when I heard those arrogant words?
“We are comforted knowing Abe is with the Lord,” he continued. “He knew Jesus as his personal saviour.”
My impulse was to run, run across the tombstones, marked with Mennonite names like Toews, Loewen, Paetkau, Klaassen, to the edge of the cemetery and scream. Instead I leaned further into my daughter hoping others would see my clinging as grief instead of rage.
“We commend Abe’s body into your hands, Dear Lord. Amen.” Two cemetery attendants came and lowered the casket a few feet into the ground. I looked up to see my mom held up by one of her grandsons, Vin’s youngest. He obviously was able to provide the support I knew I couldn’t.
We stood in silence and in that moment I realized I should have brought flowers or something to lay on the coffin even though the freezing temperatures would certainly have wilted them in a flash. I looked around. Could I break a couple of branches off the little willows planted along the road? No Sandra, that might look maniacal and the New Mennonite Cemetery attendants might stop me before I had a chance to snap a twig. I surveyed the lay of the land. A ditch ran alongside the road where we had parked our cars. I turned and ran, finally able to release the pent up emotion of the day. With gloved hand, I snapped the frozen barnyard grasses from their roots and ran back to the group. I gently placed them on the casket. There, so much better than the last words of the minister.
Thud! A small piece of sod hit the coffin, thrown by an impatient uncle, announcing the finality of the moment. I walked over to my aunt and uncle. “We will see him again some day,” my aunt said. I stared at her and realized in that moment I was surrounded by others who believed, who would not have full possession of these intense emotions, who would bypass the grief and skip to the glory. A glory in my mind that would never come.
We all turned to leave as the sun went down. Instead of going back into the SUV, I gently guided my nephew into the back seat, ran to the car at the front of the line up and slipped into the passenger’s spot. My son was already in the driver’s seat warming the car while my daughter and neice snuggled in the back. The large convoy had dispersed leaving my two brothers and family members in their cars. Together we decided to visit the piece of land where my father was born.
We drove past Home Street, where the house my grandfather built still stood and then headed towards the Hwy. Suddenly the two cars ahead of us split off and we had to make a decision as to whom to follow. “Follow Ron,” I said. “who knows what Vin is doing!”
“Leave it to this ADHD family to try and actually follow each other,” my daughter joked. We all laughed as we knew those impulsive tendencies were the direct legacy of my father and their Opa.
