Sympathy Pain

It seems I have had to eat my words a few times in the past. I had another moment of clarity the other day that made me rethink my position on the whole road side memorials.

I was driving back from a basketball game last week. I was in one of those…”I just want to get home and grandpa has decided to come to town…and is in front of me”…kinda modes.

Then I saw her. This elderly lady, wearing a heavy mink coat, pulled off at an intersection. God decided that I needed to stop at said intersection, so the light changed as I approached. She was cleaning away the weeds that had grown up around a small, handmade cross. She set the small urn upright that had fallen over, and replaced the silk flowers which had been blown away. The lights on her Champaign Taurus gave her enough light to go about her solitary work. It was very cold that evening, but I had the feeling that this was a ritual that happened no matter the weather.

Part of me wanted to stop and help. Part of me knew that this was therapy for her. I have no idea what the relationship was, nor how long it had been since her loss had occurred, but I did know I had been wrong in my judgment of the memorials. They are not for the deceased. They are for the living. They are a way to move through a tragedy. I have no right to tell someone else how to grieve. It is not my privilege to judge them.

I hope she finds a little more peace every time she passes that place of loss. I hope she never listens to anyone’s negative opinion of her memorial as long as she finds comfort in it.