Last Friday we laid Randy’s cremains to rest at Sarasota National Cemetery. The ceremony, with military honors including a three-gun salute, was beautiful, but somber and heart wrenching. Close to 50 people, some of whom were surprises to me, some who traveled a very long way to help lay him to rest, attended.
I was honored beyond words that so many friends and family took the time and made the effort on that brutally hot day to be there for this final formal recognition of Randy Grathen’s life. Following that ceremony, about 40 people came back to our home to celebrate that he lived and loved among us. It was an emotional, but wonderful, afternoon. People loved Randy. And I’m sure he loved them right back looking down on the whole thing from heaven.
Since my niece Myndi and I picked up his cremains from the funeral home about a week after he died, the sealed cardboard box containing his urn has been sitting, unopened, on his dresser. The flag they draped over his body when they transported him to the funeral home is folded into a nice, neat triangle that was placed in front to obscure the box.
Piled on top and around that box were his hats. If you knew Randy, you knew how much he loved his (mostly Air Force) ball caps. He did have a few other favorites, though. There are a couple of Trump hats, some Packers hats, 2 old All American PowerClean hats, a 605th MASS (his unit on Guam) hat, and one of my favorites, a hat I bought for him that says, “I fix stuff and I know things, that’s what I do”.
I had a bit of a hard time knowing that box with his cremains was just sitting there on his dresser. I shouldn’t have. It’s not creepy, it’s just not him. I want to remember him vibrant and alive, not as a pile of gray ash in a plastic bag encased in a wooden box, no matter how attractive the box is.
A few days ago, on my morning walk, Randy and I had an argument. I’m not kidding. It really upset me. I was thinking about how people split up a loved one’s ashes and sprinkle them somewhere that meant something to the one who died. Or give lots of people a little bit of ash so they all can feel like a little piece of their loved one is still with them.
That’s all just weird to me. And weirder still is my belief that I wanted whatever is left of the earthly body of Randy to be whole! I didn’t want his arm or a piece of his leg to be separated from him. I know…and you’re right. That IS weird. But that’s what I thought the morning we had that telepathic argument.
On my walk, he kept insisting I would be sorry I didn’t keep part of his ashes with me. He was so adamant! And I keep telling him that no, I wouldn’t be sorry. It was just like one of our old, in-person arguments where we disagreed with each other about something. I didn’t like it at all!
Finally, I just had to say to him, “my mom always told me I would be sorry I made the decision to not have kids. And you know I never was!” That seemed to shut him up. But I thought about it for days. Why would he have been so adamant?
In the end, on the morning of the interment, his family and I finally opened the cardboard box, and I made the final decision to keep him whole. Every single ash, the whole and entire remains of Randy, went to the cemetery for interment (the cemetery calls it inurnment). I still haven’t regretted that choice.
Everyone I encountered that day was so kind. All of the people who came back to the house enjoyed, I think, the time we spent together remembering his life. Many of us still can’t believe he’s gone. I wonder how long it will take before that realization finally sinks into my soul.
The contributions of scores of people made that afternoon easy and memorable for me. There are many to thank and I will do most of that personally, one on one. But I would be remiss if I didn’t acknowledge my sweet, accomplished former restaurant owner, and efficient friend Nancy, who basically took charge of making sure everything was planned and executed when I just couldn’t wrap my head around putting this celebration together. She made the chicken main dish and that yummy seafood salad everyone loved and made sure there were enough serving dishes and paraphernalia that made it pretty as well as functional.
Ellyn and Ruthann came to the house while everyone else was at the cemetery and prepared for everyone’s return. Countless friends contributed side dishes and desserts. Some of Randy’s family (mine, too, for the last 50 years) were here supporting me for nearly a week before and after, lifting me up and holding me together. It was an effort I was incapable of making by myself, but Team Randy and Laurie stepped up in a big way. For that I am more grateful than I can express.
Now that all of the “events” associated with recognizing and wrapping up the life of a beloved man, husband, uncle, friend, and all-around good guy are done, I finally feel a little tiny bit of closure. There are still a few things yet to be resolved with the VA, but mostly we are left with the memories we created with him. And with the joy we had in knowing and loving him.
I saw a quote recently that said, “Little by little we let go of loss, but never of love.” And then another by William Penn that said, “They that love beyond the world cannot be separated by it. Death cannot kill what never dies.”
It’s true. Life ends, but love is eternal.
Rest in Peace, my love.
P.S. I got a call yesterday saying I won $8.5 million and a brand-new Chevy Tahoe from Publisher’s Clearing House (although he didn’t verify who he was speaking to before he gave me the good news). The guy asked me to get a pen and paper (I’ve been down that road before) and I politely told him my husband recently died and I didn’t have time for all the instructions. I requested he pass the prize on to the next luckiest person. He asked me incredulously if I was turning down $8.5 million and a new Chevy Tahoe. I said I was. I’m sure Randy is laughing wherever his soul exists now. I sure hope I wasn’t wrong about him being a scammer. 😉
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