MAKING THE EFFORT vs. JUST THINKING ABOUT IT

A FEW DAYS BEFORE CANADIAN THANKSGIVING, I finally went to the cemetery where my parents are buried. My dad died in 1983 from a heart attack. He was only 56. My mom died two years ago, aged 85, after battling lung cancer. She had purchased their burial plot after my father passed. Whenever I visited his grave with her, it was strange to see how accommodated she was to knowing where she would one day be interred. In many ways, Mom was a practical sort. In other ways, not so much.

I had been planning to lay silk flowers at their grave for some time and had put it off. Every November, the cemetery removes all the grave flowers, so snow-removal is easier. I'd been feeling grumpy about visiting. I'd been busy all summer. This was yet another chore. My mother always took leaving flowers for my father quite seriously. It already being October, the flowers would be removed in November unless I rescued them first. I had missed retrieving them the year before, so their grave was bare. The cemetery was also a bit of a drive - 40 minutes to get there. It wasn't like jumping into the car to buy groceries. Instead, I had to plan things - buy new flowers, pick a day that worked in my schedule, then carve out precious time to drive there.

Part of my irritation was in doing what was expected of me. It was as if my parents were watching me from afar and expecting me to leave flowers at their grave because that's what a dutiful daughter did. It would be a sign of my devotion to them, a proof. I've never liked being forced into proving anything, or being put into a societal box. But I was also feeling a bit guilty for not going. When I finally did go, I discovered the effort wasn't so much for my parents, as it was for me.

I learned something about effort, about grieving, and about life that day. To make the physical effort to visit a grave is something that's much more potent than simply thinking about loved ones who have died. Making an effort becomes a kind of ritual, a ceremony. In remembering and celebrating who my parents were, I transformed an ordinary moment into something more poignant and deep. My effort became a sacrament, an expression of the love I have for them, and the love they have for me. If I hadn't gone to their grave, I wouldn't have had that experience. Yes, there were tears. I will go again to retrieve their flowers before the cemetery removes them.

In the wider scheme of things, the idea of 'effort vs. just thinking about it', is applicable to any aspect our lives. Thoughts have power, but it's in the doing that the magic occurs.

- Susan.