There are no coincidences. During recent months, my wife Lucille has often commented that I have not been in some time to visit my parents' gravesite. In fact, many times I have driven past the cemetery, had time to venture in and pay respect in repose, but just haven't. In the past it seemed I had always, when in the area, driven in, parked my car, walked up the tiny hill, arrived at the burial spot, and peered at their names on the bronze marker, still in disbelief that both are gone, and then returned to my car. Occasionally a visit became fodder for my former (2009 - 2015) blog. However, recently I had been neglecting the brief trek. Lucille told me that, during a December drive through for her, she noticed that a holiday grave blanket had been laid atop the grave. Therefore, I felt it was time to make the time. I visited on a sunny but chilly Wednesday morning. A prior day's rain had soaked the ground, and the grass itself was a bit wet, but it didn't deter me. As I walked the tiny hill to my parent's plot, I was amazed at how crowded the area had become. When my Dad passed in 2000, there were very few newer graves in the area; now the hill was populated with not only newer stones, but also recently planted evergreen bushes. The changes, to me, were drastic. Had I really been away that long? Creature of habit, I reached my parents' marker and looked down. Both burials -- my Dad's in the heat of May, my Mom's during a freezing rain in February, the latter due to the very poor weather attended by only myself, my wife, my brother Gordon, a parish priest, and an undertaker -- seemed so long ago. I kept looking at both names, wondering what I would say if both were next to me at that moment. All was quiet, until I spoke: "Mom and Dad, please pray for us. You know right now how challenging our lives are. We have decisions to make, and we need help. Please pray for me, Lucille, Stefanie, and Lady, with Jesus." Silence. Then, I remembered our beloved dog, Jeffrey, who passed away in 2012. "Jeffrey, you pray for us, too. Sit with Grandma and Grandpa and pray for us with Jesus." Again, silence. Then I recalled the first child we never had, my wife's first pregnancy that ended in a miscarriage. "Born, miscarried child in Heaven with Jesus, join Jesus, Jeffrey, Grandma and Grandpa and pray for us as well." I stood and kept looking down at the grave, breathing calmly, ensuring satisfaction with my prayer, having included all whom I felt could intercede. I was oblivious to all roadway traffic behind me, and any other activity that may have been going on in the cemetery. A quick wind kicked up. Where moments ago all had been tranquil, now leaves rustled along the ground, and tree branches shook in a nearby tree. As the wind nipped my left eyeball, I turned my head immediately to my right, and I saw it. I'm not sure if someone had purposely crafted the two crisscross tree bark pieces for a neighboring grave or nature had created the tiny but perhaps not seen by anyone else masterpiece. It was there about 6" from my parents marker, at that moment, for me. There was a message in it for me. While many may scoff at its appearance, relating it to "coincidence" or elements of nature and weather, so be it.
Work of wind or whatever, I was appreciating the gift, no matter how delivered. I briefly considered taking the cross with me to my home, but instead opted to leave it where it could bless the resting spots of many. I had prayed, listened, and received. Steve
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Steve Sears is a New Jersey based freelance writer
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