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Announcement Before the Day Ends

Before Thursday concludes, I needed to mention that on this date, thirteen years ago, my one sister's third child... my niece, committed suicide at the age of 17. If she were alive today she would be 30 years old. If she had lived, it is very likely she would have become a high school teacher.

She died in the same horrid year as my father. My father died in March of 1994, whereas my niece died in December of 1994. Between March and December of that year, we also experienced the death of one of my very close uncles, the death of my major professor/advisor from when I was in graduate school, and the death of a very close, family friend.

My niece is buried in a plot that is next to the burial site for my mother and father. When I went to visit my mother and father this evening, I brought the rose I always bring for my mother, and I also brought a small bundle of yellow daises to lay upon my niece's grave.

By the time of the day I can arrive at the cemetery (all the way across to the far side of town... roughly 45 minutes by car), it is usually between 8:00 and 8:30 pm. In the Summer this is not a problem, but now, during the Winter, it is pitch black outside. As I slowly drive down the lonely deserted roads deeper and deeper into the cemetery, the darkness grew deeper and deeper. The only light was that thrown by the headlamps on my truck. After several twisted turns I came upon the burial sites. I angled my truck in such a way in the road that a cast of light shown upon the graves. Getting out of my car, I walked slowly to the graves, the tired, old, dry snow crunching loudly under each boot as I stepped.

First I lay the rose upon the grave blankets covering my mother's and father's graves. I try to talk to them, but the harsh wind bites through my jacket and my face feels the sting of the cold even through my beard and moustache. I give up and move over to my niece's grave. I lay the flowers upon her grave blanket that covers her grave and mumble a few words before heading back to my truck. In the truck, I fumble around for my pipe and tobacco pouch. Tears of sadness and anger roll down my cheeks into my beard.

I put my truck into gear and slowly drive back through the cemetery to the public roadway. I then begin my 45 minute journey home.

PipeTobacco