A couple of weeks ago I was at the cemetery tending Kalei and Grandma ‘rooms’ when I noticed an older gentleman standing over a grave not far from where I park my car. While it is not unusual for there to be visitors at his cemetery, most are there to grieve in private. As a result, their body language usually says, “Leave me alone please and thanks.”

On this day, this fellow’s language did not say that. While unusual, he did not feel scary or threatening in any way but when something is out of the ordinary, my radar goes off. I kept an eye him because of that.

After finishing my work I said good-bye to Grandma and gave Kalei her good-bye kiss. Then it was time to haul all my cemetery maintenance tools and other must-have paraphernalia back to the car. As my return had me walking towards the man, I noted him kind of…I don’t know…inching his way past his car and nearer to mine.

Now, before I go farther with this story I must tell you I was not worried about my physical safety. Not one little bit. Why you ask? Even from a distance it was pretty clear he was elderly and probably had (give or take) 20 years on me. I had no doubt who would win if it came down to a race across the cemetery. All right, all right, I heard that you wanna be comedians! Me! I would be the winner! Harrumph!!!

After two or three trips to collect everything, I was about to close the back of my SUV when I turned around and there he was! Right behind me! Before I could say anything, in a hesitate voice he said, “Do you work here?” I couldn’t help but laugh as I said, “No, I don’t although I can appreciate why you might think that.”

You see, over the years I have found ways to make tending Kalei’s room easier. My SUV is usually loaded with a weed eater (for trimming around the markers, bench and tree well), gas powered blower (to clear all the grass clippings), 4 five gallon jugs of water (for her trees), a dolly (to haul the water to the trees, rake (to rake up extra grass left behind by the cemetery mowers), ant and weed bottles (self-explanatory), lawn soil (to top up the clay based soil), flowers and foam (for the vases), soft water jug (to wash the markers) and last but not least, my cemetery kit that holds cloths, scissors, flower trimmers…you know, cemetery tending paraphernalia.

From the above list, you can see why he might think I was a cemetery employee. Sigh…this list seems a whole lot longer when I see it in writing…another sigh. (I heard that!!! And no, he should not have been the one keeping an eye on me not the other way around…another harrumph!!!). Sorry, I digress…

You didn’t have to be a brain surgeon to see this fellow needed someone to talk to. I said, “Who are you here visiting?” He replied, “My wife.” And then, with sadness pouring out of him, he lowered his head and stared at the pavement.

The poor man gone as conversationally far as he could without ‑ I don’t know – permission and perhaps, a wee bit of encouragement so I said, “What is your wife’s name?”

His head popped up lickety-split. With a smile on his face and gratitude in his eyes he said, “Louise, her name is Louise.” I replied, “Louise…that is a good name. I am pleased to meet her through you.” I then added, “And if I may be so bold as to give you some advice, don’t ever stop saying her name. In the end, after our bodies are long gone and memories dim, the only tangible thing we have left of our loved ones is their name.”

He nodded and said, “I think you might be right about that.”

As he continued to stand there I offered him my hand and said, “My name is Lorene. I hope you will tell me more about yourself and your much loved wife Louise.”

With gratitude written all over his face he didn’t hesitate. His gnarled old hand gripped mine tightly and he said, “Willie, my name is Willie.”

And then, “Would you like to see where she is buried?” “I’d love to” I replied.

As we walked over to her ‘room’ we chatted. Willie told me they were married 40 years.  Louise died fifteen months ago. He went into great detail about the months, weeks/days leading up to her death. Like so many who grieve, it was important for Willie to share what for him was a very, very, very important part of his wife’s life…her death.

Over the course of an hour, I let this 80 year old man share as much or as little as he wanted. How did I do that? With an open demeanour and the occasional word of encouragement. Sometimes he talked of their life together but more often than not, he spoke of her death and the 15 months living without her. The words just flowed out of him.

Eventually I said, “I am sorry Willie but I have to go. I promise I’ll come and visit Louise when I am here tending Kalei and her Grandma.” His answer? “Thank-you. I can’t tell you how happy you made me today. I have not had such a good day in a very long time.” “No, thank-you Willie.” I replied.

When I left the cemetery I had big smile on my face. When I got home I thought about my encounter with Willie and wondered if there was something more to our meeting than just two souls giving each other a big hug on a warm summer Sunday afternoon.

It wasn’t until I had a series of repetitive conversations just like Willie’s with one person after another over the course of a few weeks that I realized I had to write Willie’s story to supplement the “What should I say?” grief lesson I posted on August 3^rd.

The truth of the matter is we humans want to talk about our loved ones. Not only does that allow us to share our love/pride/joy for the special people in our lives with others, but the telling lets our audience add shape and color to our ‘who we are’ persona.  This kind of sharing allows us to paint a more three dimensional picture of who we are. When it comes to the living, that kind of sharing is encouraged. When it comes to the dead, not so much.

Poor Willie, he reached out to me because he was desperate to share a profound part of his life with someone. After 40 years of marriage, feeling like he should not share Louise’s life anymore left a big gap in his life story. Think of it as a kind of life redacting. The kind of censoring that government does before releasing documents to the public. While there is usually a legal, privacy or regulatory reason for government’s action, death-talk-is-yucky sanitization is totally unnecessary.

I am thankful I was at the cemetery that day and Willie let his need trump his fear of rejection so he could tell his story…all of it. While we are not there yet, there is an often much aligned generation coming up that makes me hopeful. Which one? That my friends, is a story for another day.

As I finish this latest grief lesson, I am beginning to think the title should have been Louise’s Story not Willie’s. On second thought, I know just how to end this blog…with a gift to both of them.

Thank-you for reading about Louise and Willie’s Story.