The Man at the Grave

Blustery was the day; winter and spring having a tug of war over the land.

As I was leaving a shopping center I stopped at the apron to look for traffic.  Directly in front of me was a cemetery;  a blue funeral parlor canopy ruffled in the wind.

A lone elderly man stood underneath the tent.  At his feet was a fallen floral grave decoration, blooms face down on the dirt.  He stood there by himself.  There were no others walking away as if the service had just ended, no cars but his silver Buick a few rows away.

Who was he?  Was this his wife, his sister, a child, a brother or a cherished friend? Had one of his parents, who must’ve been very ancient,  just passed to the other realm?

Intrigued, but at the same time I didn’t want to stare.  I didn’t want him to see me looking;  an intrusion it would have been upon his grief, so I looked away.

This day, so normal for all passing around him, would be remembered by him in sadness for the rest of his life.

This memory for me, too, is etched in my mind…. billowing blue canopy and the single man underneath, alone with death, yet surrounded by life.