Flowers and Flamingoes

May 28, 2019

“No plastic flowers and no pink flamingoes!” I’ve lost count of the times I’ve heard these words or a variation of them. My wife thinks it’s not just tacky—it’s scandalous that people put plastic flowers on a grave, and insists she’ll come back to haunt anyone who dares such sacrilege on hers. Of course, that only adds fuel to the fire, provoking our kids to expostulate at length about how they plan to decorate her final resting place.

After a couple years of talking about it, this past February we finally forked over the cash to purchase two gravesites in Sinclairville’s Evergreen Cemetery. The association had recently opened up a new section overlooking our home, and I told the caretaker I wanted the last two spots nearest the edge. He told me that they were going to put an access road between the gravesites and the bank that drops from the cemetery to the road in front of our house, and I responded that if they ever decided to get rid of the road and plant people there, he had instructions to dig me up and put me right on the edge. I’ve even toyed with the idea of having a periscope installed so whatever’s left of me can keep an eye on the place. 

Memorial Day is not only for parades and picnics; it’s when Linda takes the grandkids to plant flowers on the graves of some of the people who were influential in their lives. Polly Webb was one of those people who every Wednesday when they were little, had Nate’s girls over for the evening. Polly’s grave is just a stone’s throw from our plot, and there were a couple flowers left over from their work, so it turned out that the commotion I heard while working in the yard yesterday afternoon was our very own grandchildren practicing the routine by planting marigolds where we will someday reside. Fortunately for Linda, no plastic flowers were available yesterday.

Being able to joke about our eventual demise is possible because we know death is not the end of the story for us. Jesus’ death and resurrection is our guarantee and the foundation of our hope. Death has truly lost it’s sting. Life has been good, an we’re in no hurry to leave this world, but when that time comes, we’re ready. I’m guessing there’ll be a bit less joviality when that day comes, but who knows? Maybe instead of flowers there’ll be flamingoes. She’s not even there yet, so she won’t be turning over in her grave, but she might just toss and turn tonight at the prospect.