Burial

About five years ago Dad arranged to be buried at the veterans’ cemetery nearest us, Tahoma National Cemetery. He appreciated that burial is a veterans’ benefit (he was passionately opposed to burial expenses) and he wanted his gravesite to be convenient for us to visit. (Mom was cremated and her remains are in various places, some in my garden.) He arranged all of this in advance, and gave us all the information and documents we would need to carry out his arrangements, which basically consisted of the name of the cemetery and his discharge papers. It was very simple. I wish I had realized in advance that we would also need mortuary services; I had to figure that out the day he died. But I managed it.

This National Cemetery conducts burials with a brief military service. Pallbearers (some military, some family) conveyed the flag-draped casket from the hearse to the front of a shelter in the cemetery. Patriotic words were said, there was a three-volley fire, and taps was played. There was a beautiful ceremony for folding the flag and presenting it to me.

Then the military people left (with the casket), and the rest of us stayed in the shelter for our family service. About twenty of our friends and family were there with us, which was very meaningful to me. (It was a long way to drive, and in the middle of a weekday!) Alan spoke, and I spoke, and Dale spoke. The boys had intended to speak but were too overwhelmed in the moment, which is fine. We said kaddish. It was beautiful and meaningful.

The one part of the ceremony that was a little rough around the edges was that we wanted to put dirt into the grave, and the National Cemetery does not officially allow this. So we figured out where the gravesite was, and drove over there, and surprised the workers who were doing the actual burial. They didn’t argue with us, and we were able to fulfill our ritual.

We opened our home for three days of condolence calls (shiva), and were extremely touched by having people gather around us like that. Some were friends whose support had been crucial to us all along; some were community members who just wanted to show that they cared; some brought food, cards, and donations to Dad’s preferred charities. It was meaningful and heartening to have people fill our house (and our fridge) in this way. I am grateful for it.