Standing on a wet, windy hillside in the middle of nowhere southern Iowa on a chilly Saturday is not in most people's definition of a good time ... and honestly, its not my idea of a great time either. But sometimes, the Fates do not give us that choice ... as much as we would like to think we are the masters of our worlds, there is still a great amount of life that is out of our hands. Which, in essence, is what led me to stand in a hilltop graveyard yesterday, in the cold wind, on the soggy earth.
Today would have been my old man's 59th birthday ... and yesterday was the day we laid his ashes to rest. I have been to a number of funerals, but never have I been a gravedigger. I think that is something I can now cross off my list. There is nothing more humbling than not only laying a family member to rest, but actually being the one responsible for laying his remains into the ground, picking up a shovel, and replacing the hard clay earth to its place ... I have never done that. Until yesterday, that is.
Standing there, in little Weller, IA, in front of family (present and passed) I came to more realization how much things are changing. I was asked if I would like to shovel ... there was no hesitation, no looking for approval, I knew that is what I was meant to do. Scoop after scoop, I felt a greater sense of peace of knowing. As the words from "What's Left of the Flag" (Flogging Molly)played through my head, I felt more 'right' ... at least for one moment in my life, I was in touch with my surroundings. I was in a role that was once reserved for the lowest of the low in society. As I placed the grassed earth on what remained of the hole, mud covering my hands, I felt a brief moment of one. I have been humbled, I have been honored. I did something that I was meant to do. All on a cold, Iowa afternoon.
Happy birthday, old man, I will miss you. I will take care of your Wiggle Worm and raise her up right. Thank you for all you have done for me.
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