The Burial

In the early afternoon hours of my Thursday, I desperately needed a refreshing, revitalizing nature walk, and my mind immediately went to the cemetery two blocks from us. So I asked my brother to drop me off there, and from there I snuck under the employees-only fence. As my feet crunch-crunched on the rainy pebbled road, I was consistently afraid I’d be told to leave because I didn’t really have someone to mourn for there. But another part of me was defiant. How dare anyone tell me I can’t mourn a stranger! Better yet, I’m sure there are people who buy cemetery plots for themselves and then go visit them and reflect on how strange it will be when the marble plaques have dates on them. That’s certainly a thing to mourn.

So I set out reflecting on Hillary’s up-coming fate. It is obvious that the Clinton-Euphoria is meeting up with a rainy day this week. The media is eager to predict that Clinton will withdraw her campaign for presidency by the end of this week. The democrats are eager to bury her… and her first man… and her dark past, in order sentence poor Hillary to a life seeped deep in mere citizenship. All so that they may make way for the light of their eyes… the proverbial empty coffin; Barack Obama. The question is, will she continue digging her claws into Obama in order to fight towards an impossible resurrection?

As I walked, I found myself drawn to the freshly dug graves. I am normally fascinated by old graves, but this Thursday, I walked from fresh plot to fresh plot, marveling at how only a year ago some of those people could have been standing there beside me looking down at that plot. One fresh rectangle of dirt made me stand still and come closer, because it was so fresh that it didn’t have a tombstone yet. I felt like almost crying when I saw the loose bouqet of rain-battered flowers laid with care, and little rocks lined up to form a crooked heart on the dirt. I could not think then of the person beneath the ground, but the person who obviously regretted being left above it.

I couldn’t help but wonder then if Obama even has a game plan of what to do if he gets into office. Will he launch out with powerful steps backed up by his baby-steps of experience? Will he rashly continue to talk big and take big confident strides towards whatever liberal agenda he has, and take no thought for the even bigger consequences? See, with Clinton canned, Obama can walk like Hillary never will be able to. Where he walks, we must follow (to a certain extent). Question is, where will he take us? Does he even know? Or will he lean heavily on advisers and let them carry him. Will he gain the right to walk this country towards peace and instead have it carried to destruction? I mean, seriously, how much do we know about him? Not that much. And what we DO know has been suspicious at best. I heard someone say that with Obama’s highly questionable connections, he would not be allowed to join the F.B.I. Speculation? Truth?

On one of the older tomb stones, I read ‘Just 14,351 days old’. It’s intriguing to think of ones’ life as made up of just days instead of years. How would someone break it down if they wanted to say ‘just ### moments old’? If moments were the times that a person truly wanted to live, how many moments would one be made of? Even now I can still feel the electricity of the sun-streaked, rain-dried air. When one really pays attention to ones surroundings, one will see a lot more than ones own problems or conflicts. Try it. You will see the paint chipping on the green gate…duck under it and hear the rustle of a squirrel scurrying higher into the maple tree above you…marvel that this is the time of year that birds of like color chase each other…hear the water draining down the street into the brown sewer grate…almost feel the dull drone of the little air-plane in the sky…smell the splash of lazy flowers and muggy air… The magic is endless. I just had to write about it. Contrasts inspire me. From the angry gray of the sky this morning, to the brilliant, white sunshine of this afternoon… I can’t help but feel more dynamically these changes.

So, Change. Looks like we’re headed straight for it. Will it be subtle? How can it be, when the people demand more? We really are a very demanding country, you know. I was talking to one of my coworkers today, and he said, “Oh, yeah. I’m definitely for Hillary. Nobody likes her because she’s a woman and she’s un-popular. I like her because she’s for gays rights, and she doesn’t say empty things like Obama.”

I found this interesting because I certainly don’t dislike Hillary because she’s a woman and I don’t know anybody who would admit to that. The guy went on to say, “Yeah, I’m really not proud to be an American.”

I must have seemed shocked as I said, “Well, I’m very proud to be an American,” because he stumbled to clarify, “Well, I’m proud to be in this country, it’s just…our government is retarded. I wish we had any other government than our own.”

I eyed him and teased, “Even socialistic communism?”

I was trying to pull out the worst thing I could think of, and was astonished to see him nod and say, “Well, I’m sure that has it’s good points. I think no government at all would be better.”

I raised my eyebrows again, “You would prefer anarchy?”

He shrugged and said, “I don’t know, yeah, I guess. It would be better.”

I wasn’t in the mood for a big debate, so I got my two-bits in by using someone else‘s name. “I think it was John Adams who said ‘If men were angels, no government would be necessary.’ It stands to reason that a government created by men is imperfect because it is governed by men.” I wish I had said all I was thinking.

I wanted to continue, “That’s why we have the justice system, to allow men innocence until they are proven guilty. We have a legislative system to interpret the Constitution and make sure that men are treated equally and fairly. We have an executive system to carry out the laws in order to promote order that keeps law-abiding citizens safe. And if there is a discrepancy in our government, well that’s where the people get to employ their free speech. That’s where we the people call our representatives and demand justice.”

I WANTED to say all that, but it wouldn’t come out because I didn’t want to make an enemy out of the person I would have to make sandwiches all day with. I just don’t understand it! How can people not be proud to be Americans? I am SO proud to be an American. Not because (as my coworker put it), ‘we Americans feel like we have to be better than everyone else and therefore the rest of the world hates us’. I’m proud of America because it has provided me every opportunity to enjoy life. It has given me freedom of religion, safety for my parents and my home, order in my neighborhood, freedom of speech, and freedom to enjoy its beauty and history. I don't envy other people of their countries, because I'm happy where I am. I only want everybody else to be as happy as I am. I am an American. How can I NOT be proud of what I am?

I think back to those tombstones that read ‘World War1’. Those tombstones were on either side of the un-named grave that had the pebbles of a heart. Right at the head of that grave were three flags. In fact, flags were all over the cemetery, but I noticed them especially on that silent grave. The symbol of those flags above the crooked heart of rocks did not mean someone was proud to be a domineering American bigot. It symbolized that that person was proud to be what they were. They were proud to make the most of where they were. They were proud enough of where their family came from that they could be buried side-by-side of veterans who had fought for what made them proud. “Pride” is such an abused word. Pride in America doesn’t mean people are stuck up about their invincible land. It means people are not ashamed of their home. They are not ashamed of the land they dug into and made fertile. They are not ashamed of their ancestors’ spilled blood.

So Obama… are you proud? Who will make us proud? Or have we lost the right to have pride in something? Must we be ashamed of our government, our God, our free voice, our charities in foreign lands, as well as our wars on terrorist grounds?

I hope someday someone can look down on my freshly dug grave and they can marvel at how only a year ago I might have stood beside them and looked down on my plot with them. And they could watch the red-white-and-blue whip in the wind above my grave and know that I was proud of my country both in life and death. I did not rest until I spoke my piece and rested then in peace.