I've never been in a cemetery alone. In fact, I've only gone to them for funerals. Once my departure is made after the final word is said by the officiant, I don't return. Since I felt the dead can't talk back, what was the point?
Recently, there has been a small voice beckoning to me. Explaining this might make you wonder if I haven't been clobbered on the head or under the influence of some really cool pharmaceuticals. Merely admitting it might lead you to believe the previous is certain. However, I assure you I'm not a heavy drinker nor do I pop pills stronger than Ibuprofen.
Today after work, rather than turning left toward Aroma Park, I kept straight as I exited I-57 after work. For those of you who live or have lived in Kankakee, you know that Mount Calvary Cemetery was my destination. I wasn't 100% sure of where I was going, but I knew I'd find the grave-sites. The only living person on the premises, I wasn't scared. I didn't get the rippling shiver up my spine. The sun was resplendent. Overcome with a greater sense of calm and serenity than I'd felt in a very long time, I stepped from my car and took a short walk.
Tears fell as I gazed upon the headstones. I knew I was spiritually compelled to be there. Much needed conversations were held mother to mother; daughter to mother; aunt to nephew. I've babbled with my eyes turned toward the heavens with hopes of being heard, but today a language was spoken that only hearts and souls can comprehend.
It's difficult for me to fully express today's ethereal journey. One word will have to suffice.