Six Foot Deep In Trouble
As promised, here is a light-hearted cemetery story about the fear we all have: someone being buried in the wrong grave. One of my ministries is to work with people in selecting their grave sites at Dry Creek Cemetery. I’ve found that this is a time when we can really help people. I call it the “open window of opportunity.” Whether it’s a kind word, a hand on the shoulder, or a whispered prayer, people are always open to help during their time of grief. “Six Foot Deep” in Trouble The openness of people to being helped is because the loss of a loved one, and the accompanying grief, brings forth such strong emotions. These emotions may vary from tears, regret, anger, and sometimes-even laughter. Because the emotions at this time are so raw and close to the surface, anything that creates extra stress can really affect people. For many years my partner in grave marking was Mr. Jay Miller. He took me under his wing and taught me how to find the corners of a families’ grave plot and reminded me of how families were kin to each other and where they should be buried. Last November, Mr. Jay was buried in the very cemetery he loved so greatly. He had died in a way that touched everyone who knew and loved him. Early on the morning of his death, he went deer hunting with his daughter and pastor. After putting each of them on a stand, he was walking to his deer stand when he fell dead. I heard several men in Dry Creek say, “I can’t think of a better way to go than how Mr. Jay did.” He was healthy at eighty-three, with the ones he loved, and able to be still doing what he enjoyed most. I miss him, especially when it comes time to mark a grave. I depended on him for his experience and wisdom in handling touchy matters at the cemetery. However, most of all I miss his friendship. I still look for his red truck to pull up at the post office like clockwork each morning at precisely 8:30. Mr. Jay’s grandson, Mark, has taken his job as the grave marker. Mark is great and we’ll enjoy working together on this, but we both know that so much knowledge of this cemetery left us last November. Probably because of that, we’ve both been concerned to get each grave in the right spot. We have a deep fear of messing up. And if you mess up on the placing of a grave, real trouble and pain can result for the families involved. So, these anxious thoughts came to me last Thursday when I was called on to mark not one, but two graves. Both of these burials were to be on Saturday, with both being handled by the same funeral home, Labby Memorial of DeRidder. The thought hit me that it was essential to get each grave marked clearly so there could be no confusion. In the back of my mind, I imagined what it would be like if they got confused and put one of the deceased in the wrong spot. It was not a pretty thought to entertain as I imagined the chaos and chagrin that would result from a mistake like this. I used special care in marking each grave. After driving the markers down, I put flagging on each one with the family names on each one. To be sure everything was right, I called Mrs. Labby and explained to her exactly where each grave was located. She said Roy, their usual gravedigger, was off work on Saturday. She informed me that Roy’s helper, Willie, would be coming. It’s a country tradition that normally they don’t “open a grave” (that’s what they call the process of digging a grave) until the morning of the funeral. This is to avoid problems in the event of rain. I think it’s also to avoid all of those stories about people falling in open graves. A fictional story has always been told of a village which had a shortcut path through the local cemetery. One evening, just at dusk, an elderly farmer was walking this path just as night fell. In the gathering darkness, he got off the path and fell right into a freshly dug grave. After much effort, he realized he couldn’t get out of the six-foot deep hole. Finally he gave up, sat down, and waited for daylight and rescue. Eventually a second man, the town drunk, staggered along this same cemetery path and he fell into the same grave. In the darkness on this moonless night, the drunk struggled with all of his might to get a toehold and climb out. Finally, exhausted, he also sat down to wait for help the next morning. It was at this precise moment the old farmer put his hand on the drunk’s shoulder in comfort and said, “There’s no use trying, neither one of us can get out of here.” Yet, the farmer was wrong, because the drunken man, fueled by both fear and adrenaline, climbed right out of the grave and ran for his life as he stumbled over headstones and markers. I smile slightly as I remember this story. It is one more good reason not to dig these two graves until Saturday, the day of the funeral. On Friday, the day before the two funerals, I go to the cemetery just to check the markers. Everything is just exactly as I’ve marked it. Just to be sure, I call the funeral home one more time and double check ensuring that we are all on the same page. It is at this point I make my biggest mistake- I relax and tell myself that it’s all straight and taken care of. With all of my calls and clear markings at the cemetery, there is no way they can get it confused. Therefore, I don’t feel I need to
