A Grave Situation

August 2026

As you may have read, my wife and I recently took a meandering, two-week drive east from our home in the Midwest, through New England to Maine. While traveling across Vermont, we realized we were near the place where a long-time friend of ours, who had passed away a few years ago, was buried. We had attended his funeral in Michigan but decided to make a small detour to stop and pay our respects while we were in the neighborhood. Realizing that we may never pass this way again.

Now to be clear, the logical side of my brain has always rationalized that a grave is just a marker. A physical place to visit and honor someone’s memory. Or, maybe to stimulate memories. To think about the person we have lost. Someone that eternity has gained. However, I have never felt that you must visit any particular spot to honor those that are gone. I have always believed that merely thinking about the departed, talking about them, or just remembering them, keeps them “alive”. But this was different. It changed my feelings about such things. Our visit turned into an exceedingly moving event. 

Although we followed the directions we had been given to the cemetery, we still struggled to find an access point. We knew the cemetery was there; we just couldn't find our way in. After going back and forth down a lonely, meandering country road, we finally spotted a potential entrance. It was unmarked and looked a little treacherous, but we reluctantly took it. We ascended a hillside on a virtually hidden, steep, and narrow lane winding along a precipice up into a quiet meadow. The clearing was surrounded by a stand of tall trees, with a river bubbling, not far in the distance. If this was truly the right place, then our friend was memorialized in a hidden gem of a country cemetery! 

Now this was a relatively small place. There were maybe a hundred or so gravestones randomly situated around the field, some obviously hundreds of years old, some newer, but all intermixed, so we still had to search for our friend’s resting spot. Again, we were not even certain we were in the right place. My wife and I split up to expedite our search. 

It was slow going. But finally, at the very end of the clearing, behind a well-established stand of lilac, I stumbled upon our friend’s grave. It was marked with a uniquely carved and engraved stone and set down in the company of his parents and grandparents graves. I stopped, a bit paralyzed, and looked around. Quickly, almost forgetfully, I alerted my wife and waited for her to arrive, as she had been searching in another area close by. I stood there, almost spellbound, but I recall repeating “Oh my gosh”, over and over.

I will never forget how I felt at that moment while reading his name, over and over. It literally took my breath away. It was a similar experience for my wife.  She stood there for a long time, transfixed. Tears welling in her eyes. Barely breathing. Soon she began to cry. We held each other, and I began to cry. It was an emotionally charged and transformative moment. The setting was unimaginably appropriate and psychologically stirring. Because everything about this place was perfect. 

Now it’s important to understand who we were there to honor and remember. Our friend was born and raised in Vermont. Uprooted as a young man and transplanted to Michigan, but he never lost his Green Mountain roots. He was independent, down to earth, self-reliant, outdoor loving, tailgating, hacky sacking, flannel wearing, campfire sitting, bourbon sipping, pig roasting, bear lasagna cooking, hunter, skier and snowmobiler to the core. He could have posed front and center on an L. L. Bean catalog. 

That was what was a little spooky. Everything that surrounded us in that place, even the slightly smoky air we were breathing, spoke of our friend and the apt description of him that is above. To the point that it was almost like he was there with us. I truly sensed his presence. I could almost hear his voice as the nearby stream bubbled, and the birds sang in the trees. The venue, the setting, everything, provided a perfect memorial to our friend and his life.

So why does it matter? What made this so impactful?  Well, there are several levels to this. Let me explain. 

Sometimes when people die that you only see, or text, or speak to irregularly, after they pass, you don’t fully process that they are no longer there to see, text or talk to. It’s the tyranny of distance. You are cut off from the emotions of loss. Unconsciously fooling yourself that they are still out there, and we just haven’t connected in a while. This causes us to never really deal with the pain of their loss. We are basically lying to ourselves. It's easier that way.

Our situation with this friend was a lot like that. We had always texted regularly, talked occasionally, and saw each other maybe once or twice a year. If that. The tyranny of distance was certainly at play here. Since his funeral, we had been in unconscious denial that he was really gone. And this visit changed everything. It was both painful and joyful. It helped us process that our friend had passed. It allowed our grief to move to the next phase. As painful as it was, it offered us the opportunity to begin to heal. 

But it also showcased the ability of a resting place to honor the identity of the person who has passed. Which, this setting absolutely accomplished. This was “The Place” that, in our minds, our friend was meant to spend eternity. It was his own little heaven on earth. For us, it did so much more. Yes, it offered us emotional solace.  As I said, it also provided us with closure and to finally be able to say goodbye. 

Yet it also made me ponder. Selfishly, it made me wonder what my own eternal resting place might be like.  What place was fitting for me, that might make others feel like I felt when I stood over my friend’s grave? I couldn’t help but hope that someday, upon my passing, that I too could be placed in such an appropriate setting. One that represented the best of me and who I was.  

I didn’t think too long before I realized I didn’t have an answer. You know why?  Because it isn’t what I think about me, but what others do, that determines my perfect resting place. Other people’s perceptions would have to create that place for me. I can only think I know what that place is. I will never truly know. As my friend likely didn’t either. 

My wife and I got back in our car and slowly drove away. We spoke very little for a long while as we meandered along the backroads of rural Vermont and went on with our vacation. But we were both a little different. A little lonelier. But also grateful for what we had just seen and felt. Yes, our friend is gone. We now accept this. But he will never be forgotten. The place became him. Symbolic maybe, but in my mind, I will now always see him at peace in that meadow. I too, am now at peace. My wife is at peace. And we moved on.