Going Home

Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there: I do not sleep
I am a thousand winds that blow
I am the diamond glints off snow
I am the sunlight on ripened grain
I am the gentle autumn's rain

Do not stand by my grave and mourn
I am the dew-flecked grass at dawn
Where tranquil oceans meet the land
I am the footprints in the sand
To guide you through the weary day
I am still here, I'll always stay

When you wake up to the morning hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight
I am the stars that shine at night
Do not stand at my grave and cry
I am not there: I did not die

I came across that poem again a few days ago. It's one of my favorites and has offered me much comfort in the losses I have experienced. It also held the answers I had been looking for.

I've been concerned about my own death for a long time, more so since Jacob came. Where to be buried - if I want to. To be cremated? Funeral? Memorial Service? Something? Nothing? I've always been terrified Edna would step in and do the big church funeral and dress me in some gaudy white girly nightgown - or worse...a pink dress, coat me in face paint, curl my hair, and then stuff me in a silver casket! If you know me, you know I'd have to be dead to let that happen. I had to figure it out for myself before I was stuck in a pink dress for eternity!

I've talked to Jeremy about my decision and he has agreed to comply. When I die, I want to go home, to the city where I was born, to Manistee. I don't want a service. I don't want a funeral. I don't want flowers. I will be cremated and I want my husband, my son, my family, and my good friends to go to First Street Beach in Manistee. I want you to walk along Lake Michigan, left of the break wall until the water meets the cliff and you can't pass without getting your feet wet, pick up some glass rocks along the way and put them in your pocket - like I always did. Look up the cliff for the old car stuck in the cement - that's the spot. Tell each other your favorite stories about me, hug Jacob, hold Jeremy's hand, read the poem above, let my body go into the breeze and know that I am where I wanted to be. Come visit me at sunset, tell your thoughts to the lake. God creates a beautiful picture there every evening. Once you see it, you'll be back to visit me again.