Every now and then, I dream about my dad, and the first thing I do the next day is visit him at the cemetery. Today, while I was sitting in the mausoleum where he's interred, someone walked into our block. I call it our block because he's indoors, and it's a maze of hallways with dead ends. I like going there because it's quiet, and I can think clearly. In my version of heaven, they get a ping when someone visits their gravesite, and they come to be with you. I've never been interrupted there before; everyone usually minds their business but today was different. A gentleman walked in and said, "Oh, it's a busy day here." He came in while I was texting my friend about something important I have tomorrow. I could feel his energy right away—he wanted me to leave so he could sit and cry for whoever he was visiting. He left but came back quickly. He seemed sad, and I was sad too, but it was a different kind of sadness.
I got up from the communal dead-end bench and said, "I hate that they don't have ladders here so I can climb up and leave my dad this quarter." I looked at him, and he immediately opened up like a flower. He told me he was visiting his wife, who passed away in 2023 after a surgery on her uterus. They accidentally perforated her intestines, and she died from sepsis. He started trauma-dumping, and I realized I needed to stay and talk to him. I complained about how hot it was in there and why the AC wasn't working—those drawers cost a lot of money, and it literally smells like a decomposing body in the summer. He said, "That's what I used to work in. I'm retired now. If someone asks me to help with an AC issue, I say no. I'm done." I could understand that—if you're not doing what you're passionate about, it's exhausting. He told me his wife used to be a teacher for special needs kids and was really good at it. He was so hurt; his energy was heavy and all over me.
I stayed a little longer and shared how I had worked with numbers for 30 years before deciding at 50 to become a substitute teacher, wondering if it was time to finally listen to all the psychics and astrologers I'd visited over the years. They always said teaching. We chatted for a while, and then I left him there with his grief over losing his best friend. She was young, born in the early '60s.
My dad must see him there all the time and was like let me call Michelle here because he needed some words. Sometimes I feel like people like him are angels. Testing me, to see how good I am. Now next time I'm there and we run into each other, he has a friend.
