by CliftonRoy

Created on: July 21, 2008

I arrived early. From my vantage point on the old rock wall, I watched as the darkness of night, grudgingly gave way to the early morning light. The unrecognizable shapes of the dark began to slowly take form into the colorful images of flowering shrubs and the many different flowers.

Growing up hunting and fishing with my dad, I had learned to appreciate the clean, fresh feeling that the dawn brought. The sound of the birds singing that started with the first light, built until it was a symphony of such beauty, it could truly bring tears to your eyes.

When I first took this job, I was only sixteen and somewhat embarrassed to tell my friends that I worked in a graveyard. As a matter of fact, I had quit working there once, only to return and ask for my old job back when the new job I had taken didn't work out.

It was still almost an hour before I started to work, so I took my thermos of coffee and began walking. There were narrow, rock lined paths that meandered through the neatly cut grass and many flower beds and gardens. I would occasionally stop and sit on the benches that were scattered through-out the graveyard and watch the squirrels and the many rabbits that lived there. There was also a family of deer that consisted of a doe and three fawns that were there almost every morning. I would watch as the fawns bounced and jumped while their mother grazed on the fresh, well watered, grass.

While the graveyard was the place where the bodies of many people were laid in their final, earthly, resting place, this old graveyard was a new beginning for me. It was where I began to understand death, pain, and grieving, it was also where I learned to understand that death, while painful, brought peace of mind for many.

The old man that owned the graveyard was a kind, generous man that was totally at peace with God. On the rare occasion that a funeral was scheduled on a Sunday, he insisted we never do any work except that which was necessary to accomplish the task of laying someone to rest and upon concluding, we immediately returned home.

I would work after school, on Saturdays, and through-out the summer, mowing grass, raking leaves, and any of a thousand things that are needed to maintain the beautiful appearance of the graveyard.

Even though it was over forty years ago, I can still remember the old man sitting on his backhoe and very slowing digging through the earth to dig the four foot by eight foot hole that was required to place the casket. He was an expert and could dig the grave almost perfectly. We would set up a large, green, plywood box close to the grave and he would empty each bucket of dirt into it. We would then cover the box with artificial grass and set all the flowers from the funeral on it. We would place more of this artificial grass all around the grave site so that no dirt was showing.

While this old man taught me many things, the most important things I learned was to be kind and understanding and to be truly empathetic towards the family of the deceased.

It was interesting that the old graveyard that I was initially embarrassed to work at became a retreat of beauty that I hated to leave. The memories have stayed with me through the years. Even today, I love walking through graveyards and sometimes just find a nice shady tree and sit and rest.

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