I went back to the cemetery . . .

Today was one of those days that I'll never forget as long as I live.

I witnessed the celebration of the life of the father of "The Love of My Lives", Ronald J. Filipski.

I can't even begin to express the intensity of the convergence of feeling, faith and emotion that occurred today, but I can assure you all, it was amazing.

I watched "The Love of My Lives", with his new paramour, play out their role in making all that happened today 'happen'. It was interesting. I mean, they seem to have a certain complimentary rhythm that helps them 'get through it all'.

I ended up hanging out with another "ex-" and a mutual friend of the ex-.

I think people were surprised that I showed up as the 'loner', the 'renegade', the 'drifter'. But, that's who I am.

I mean, I think it's nice that one of the ex's showed up with a mutual friend and that we all got along with the current 'paramour', but it all felt a little strained to me. I exited alone . . .

Don't get me wrong. It was a beautiful and wonder-filled day. But, like all funerals . . . it was laden with the regrets of all that should have been and the idealism that only 'good' memories can bring.

Then, I went back to the cemetery . . . alone.

I left the 'reception(?)' hall shortly past 3:16 PM (3/16 is my birthday) and headed back to the cemetery. I wanted to spend some time with Pam, (the ex's sister, who died of a brain tumor at the age of 28 in 1988), and Ron, th ex's dad, after the crowd had passed.

As I always do, I freaked somebody out.

When I arrived at the cemetery, there was an elderly gentleman with a white pickup truck and several shovels and rakes. He was lifting up these 4x8 sheets of 1/4" plywood from next to Ron's grave that were placed there to manage the earth. He'd just finished filling the plot in and arranging the flowers. It was obvious that he was a 'quiet' caretaker. It is his role in life to 'cover' people and help return them to the earth.

I said to him that I was just coming back to visit the graves after the funeral and the crowds had gone.

He looked at me with both an expression of compassion and incredulity.

I, on the other hand, just realized it was a reaction appropriate to 'me' being 'me'.

I suppose most people don't return to the grave site of a recently departed loved one on the day they've been interred. But, then again, I'm not most people.

Anyway, once he took his shovels and rakes and drove away (acknowledging me with only a nod), I squatted and acknowledged both Pam and Ron. I cried. I cried . . . I let them know that I loved their brother and son, unconditionally. I watched the light of a late autumn day. I felt the chill of/in the air and I watched the clouds roll by.

And, ultimately, I had an intimate moment with his sister and his father that no one else had.

I'm so glad I went back to see them by myself. I doubt that anyone else would, but I had to.

And, I cried . . .