Grave Matters

Social custom requires certain things of people and usually these rules are followed and sometimes they are not fulfilled for various reasons, some valid, some otherwise. There is a custom that I do not follow and for good reason. Or so I believe.

Mary and I were married for 16 years, 8 months and 5 days when she died at 10:04 p.m. on the second of April, 2006. We had known one another just shy of 20 years by that time. When we were married on July 28, 1989, she told me we would be lucky to have another 20 years together. I replied that we would have at least 25 years together from that time. I was 40 at the time and she was approaching 47 years old. I figured my actuarial prediction was the more accurate one. As in most cases, Mary was right. Mary was buried on April 5, 2006. That was the last time I visited St. Michael’s Cemetery.

I do not visit Mary’s grave for one very simple reason. That is not her in the ground. What lies in the ground are the mortal remains of the woman I still love.

For a time, I dwelt on the physical aspects of death. I know what the undertakers do to make the body presentable to the living for whom the entire funeral industry exists. Without the living, there would be no money in death. From thoughts of what the undertakers were up to I began to dwell on the physical aspects of decay and eventual putrefaction of the body. If you think about this stuff long enough you can go crazy. None of these physical things had one thing to do with Mary.

Mary gave me a copy of Skinny Legs and All before we were married. She was always self-conscious about her legs which were, in fact, pretty darn skinny. She hardly ever wore shorts and usually wore long dresses or skirts. When she gave me that book, I told her that she was not her legs or her famous Bowe nose or any combination of body parts. The point I was trying to make is that it was her very self that I love and not a collection if tissue, fluid, bone and blood. It is the very idea of Mary that held me then and holds me now.

Mary Bowe Koechig was full of love, joy and wonder for everyone and everything around her. Lying in her lounge chair on the deck at Mary’s Cove, a fuchsia plant hanging above her, she would quietly smile when her hummingbird appeared, making its regular visits. She never said a word, but rather enjoyed the presence of this remarkable bird who gave her so much happiness. She found what she called “faces” in the petals of flowers, especially pansies. Mary found reasons to be happy with life and sought to bring that happiness to others. Her regrets were not many, but one regret she carried with her to the grave was that she felt she never did enough for her daughters.

Losing her hair to chemotherapy, Mary asked me to meet her halfway. After telling her I did not marry her hair, I disappeared into the bathroom and shaved one half of my moustache off and asked if that was what she meant. She merely suggested that I would be more socially acceptable if I shaved the other half. But she did laugh.
This and more is what I carry in my heart. I carry the memory of her smile, her laugh, her tears and worries. This is Mary. Her skinny legs did not matter; she mattered.

Our friend Charlotte tends the grave and tells me how it looks and I appreciate what she does. Mary appreciates it as well. For me, however, it is enough to carry her in my heart. That is all I need and all I can handle.