In my spare time, I volunteer to take pictures of headstones in local cemeteries for people doing genealogical research. If you live in East Bubbleflip and your kin are buried near me, I make a trip to the cemetery and take a picture or two. I then send them via email and/or I post them on a virtual cemetery website. This way people who live far away can get a sense of a cemetery visit (or at least a gander). Or, if they're working on their family trees, the pictures can serve as a primary sources of information or sometimes give them additional details that they didn't have. It's fun, easy, and doesn't take a lot of time. And the people making the request really appreciate the help.
A few weeks ago, I saw a couple of photo requests for a cemetery a few miles from my house. The person making the requests had excruciating detailed instructions where to find the two headstones. Perfect! I have no sense of direction so I thought the instructions would help. I click to agree to volunteer and then ask Tim if he wants to come along because really, what's a better way to spend an sunny, summer afternoon than a trip to the cemetery?
Answer: Nothing.
We spend over an hour in the blazing sun looking for these people. We keep consulting the map and the explict instructions: "Area A & B, rows yadda, yadda, spaces blah, blah, blah." We're searching in Area A & B - no dice. We even traipsed over into Area C, D & E - nope, not there. For good measure, we even checked the mausoleum vaults; the areas where the cremains are buried; the veterans' section - nothing. This cemetery is huge. It would take days to go through and read names on every row in the place. And it's a Saturday. The cemetery office is closed.
I leave feeling like jerk. And a disappointment. This person is depending on me to get the headstone pics and I've failed. I go home and send the person making the request an email. I tell them that I tried to find the headstones and was unsuccessful. I also tell them that I'll go back when the office is open. "I'm sure the people in the office can help me and I'll get the headstone pictures. I promise." They write back and say, "Here are the instructions where to find the headstones."
Yeah. I had that info.
On my next day off, I head out early to the cemetery. I stop by the office and speak to the two ladies working there. They're very nice and totally willing to help. Yay! One hops on the computer and types up the names. She turns to the other lady and using that "Uh-Oh," uncomfortable tone of voice I use with passengers when flights are delayed a couple of hours, she says, "Ummmm, Nancy?"
Nancy walks over, quickly reads the display on the monitor and then turns to me and cheerfully chirps, "Sorry honey, they've been cremated! There are no headstones for these people. They've been scattered over in the rose garden."
Holy crap! I'm pretty sure I said that outloud.
"Just go take some nice pictures of the flowers!" she happily suggests. "Because God only knows where they're scattered out there."
While walking to my car to go fetch my camera it occurs to me that the person making the photo requests has absolutely no idea that Grandma and Grandpa, or Aunt and Uncle, or cousins WhatsTheirFaces have been cremated and scattered. Apparently, they didn't keep in touch so much. The people I'm looking for have been dead for a mere 10 and 20 years respectively. In genealogical terms that's about 3 or 4 minutes. They both were both born in the midwest and died in Los Angeles. I know this because I did a little research beforehand. I like to know who it is I'm taking pictures of out of respect. I don't know what these people are doing scattered, nameless in south OC. Did someone in the family decide to take the more ecomonical funerary road and maybe...ummmm, fail to mention this little fact to the rest of the family living in East Bubbleflip?
I grab my camera and take a bunch of pics of the memorial garden. I tried to make sure the pictures were lovely so as to give a cheerful, optimistic twist to the burnt and scattered truth. I then wrote an email gently letting them know there is no "row yadda, yadda, yadda; spaces blah, blah, blah." Feeling bad about having to break the news, I start chatting up the memorial garden, like I'm writing advertising copy. I use words like "beautiful," "serene," and "lovely." I mention the many colors of roses and the general feeling of peacefulness. I don't mention the apartments directly facing the garden
- epecially the one playing mariachi music, loud, at 9:30 in the morning. Life is celebration and it most certainly goes on. And that's a good thing. This just probably isn't the time to discuss the merits of those ideas.I haven't heard back.
Perhaps they're seeking a second opinion.
