Come on, Arlan. Get up. Get dressed. Go through the everyday routine, I told myself when I woke a few days after my wife’s funeral.
Dolly and I had been a devoted couple for 43 years. I’d always had her right by my side, or to come home to at the end of a long day. Who was by my side now?
I got dressed, had some breakfast and headed to the cemetery in my truck. My hobby was restoring and caring for abandoned pioneer grave sites, many of them made of sandstone.
They’re very fragile. The wrong cleaning process could damage them beyond repair. It was detailed work, but the results gave me a sense of accomplishment. The people in these old graves had no one else to care for their final resting place. But with me, they weren’t alone and forgotten.
Nowadays I know what that’s like, I thought as I parked my truck and walked through the cemetery gates.
A white-faced calf grazed just inside. He looked like a baby. I’d never seen any animals here before. Perhaps there’s a farm nearby, I thought.
I inspected several headstones until I found one to work on. I set down my tools and got on my hands and knees.
First I used a soft cloth to dust off the loose material in and around the stone. I poured some bleach onto the area I wanted to clean first. Then I got out some soapy solution and a very soft bristle brush.
Slowly, as I worked, the name on the grave became clear. Alone, without Dolly, my work took on a whole new meaning for me.
I remembered the morning Dolly got sick. We’d woken up early and, as usual, put on the coffee pot. After breakfast Dolly did the dishes. I gave her a kiss and settled in to read the morning paper.
A few minutes later Dolly came into the den looking panicked. “What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I fell off the breakfast stool,” she said, wincing. I eased her onto the couch and called 911.
What seemed like a minor accident turned serious. The doctor said Dolly had injured her spine. “Don’t worry, love,” I told her. “I’m going to take care of you.”
A nurse made visits to the house. I cooked all Dolly’s meals. I did the cleaning. I read to her from the newspaper. When she felt down I made her laugh. For eleven months I took care of Dolly with the gentle attentiveness that I took care of the grave I was cleaning now.
I brushed away at the sandstone, stopping now and again to wash away the soapy solution and bleach with water. As I lovingly cleaned the headstone, I couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if I got hurt. Would anyone care for me the way I cared for Dolly?
I had forty-three years of love every day, I thought to myself. That should be enough. For now I was utterly alone.
I finished my work and packed up my tools. Closing the cemetery gates behind me I noticed the calf had wandered out too. He stood staring at me as I crossed the road to where I had parked my truck.
Sitting behind the wheel, I sensed something beside me. Outside the driver’s seat window, a pair of big brown eyes looked back at me. The calf ’s eyes were so big and soft they almost seemed loving. What am I to see in those eyes? I wondered.
The calf pressed his wet mouth up against my window, leaving a clear print, like a kiss. Then he backed up, turned around and wandered off.
I sat silently pondering the kiss print on my window. When I drove away I looked in my rearview to see where the calf had gone. I couldn’t spot him anywhere. But I had seen love in his eyes. The love that God felt for me, and that I would always feel for Dolly.
I wasn’t alone nor forgotten. Not as long as there was love in this world. And in the next, for all of us.
My hobby was never so fulfilling.
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