I used to be so scared of cemeteries. Anytime I would ride by as a young girl, I automatically assumed that dead people would get me. I guess I was just a weird kid. And then as I got older I realized that wasn’t the case, but they still scared the mess out of me. Death was something I never had to learn how to deal with growing up. People in church died, sure, but they were old and ready to go to Heaven.

And in the summer before college, my first great grandparent died during my lifetime. I was heartbroken. And he was 92. So, I assumed it was time for death. And then another great grandparent died. She was 85. Again, old and it was time. She was in pain. And then my Granny died in 2009. And she wasn’t old. And I wasn’t ready. And death scared me. It was hard. Feelings were raw. I couldn’t say her name without bawling my eyes out for years. Obviously, I should have gone to seek professional help. I can’t deal with change. That was the lesson I learned.

And then fast forward 9 years. My own baby died. My flesh and blood. He had been in my body just 2 days before. And that’s when I learned that death is always going to come. It’s inevitable. God designed it. Because the end of life here on earth isn’t the end. It’s just the beginning. And it comes when you least expect it. And you don’t have to be old to die. And I was so sheltered, I guess, that I never even thought about my own baby dying. Will would have been 2 and a half this week. It’s been 30 months almost. And life keeps going. I still can’t figure it out. It feels like a nightmare that I can’t wake up from and life keeps going on.

All that to say, I’ve finally realized that a cemetery isn’t a scary place anymore. 35 years later and I’m not scared. I have been there when the sun rises, when the sun sets, in the middle of the night. Basically, I can usually be found creepin’ around Celestial Memorial Gardens. And I’m okay with being a creep.

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