July 6

I’ve had several travel goals this year. I’ve been compelled to get back to Ohio to visit the cemetery by choice. Not while having to bury someone. To get a small sense of closure and try to move on. Seeing my best friend was another one. Good thing she had just moved back to Ohio. The last one was to get to Tennessee to visit a woman who helped shape who I am today. So far I’ve reached two of my three goals. A couple weeks ago I visited Kate on my way to DC. She graciously agreed to take me to the cemetery. I thought I was ready. I was past the six months point, had been mentally prepared for this trip, and finally didn’t have the weight of being strong for everyone else.  I could just simply go and let go.

What I didn’t anticipate was the drive over. The last time I had made this drive, it was to bury my grandmother. The time before that was with my grandmother to bury my grandfather- the last large chunk of time I had spent with Bear. It seemed like the closer we got to the cemetery, the more each corner held a memory of some of my final conversations with my grandmother- waiting at the airport to be picked up seeing her triumphant smile after living through her first airplane ride, hearing the GPS incessantly reminding us to stay on “30-Tweast,” passing the hotel with loads of memories, dinner at Frisch’s splurging on desserts, stopping at Walgreens to get lemon drops for her to suck on, me trying to convince everyone that Chipotle was really good, and all the random spots she’d point out that had some sort of childhood or family memory. The memories were playing out in my mind just as if they were happening.

The cemetery was beautiful… and blazing hot, a stark contrast to the last time I was there. As I got out of the car my one mental and emotional goal was to get to the plot. Poor Kate. In my determination to be ok and to not cry, I nearly missed her hug. For seven months I had wanted a shoulder to cry on and a hug, and in the moment I had it, I didn’t know what to do with it. I had become accustomed to doing this on my own with only God at my side.

Things looked good. All the engraving had been finished, and a plaque had been added honoring my grandpa’s service in the Korean War. My dad was able to join us, because he had been in town. Even though it was harder than I expected with memories vividly replaying in my mind, it was a relief to know that we were past the hard part. As we stood there, God reassured us that we were still standing. We weren’t the people that were standing a year ago, but he had brought us this far, and he would continue to help us through.