My Favorite Place is a Cemetery (Pt. 3)

Christmas tends to be a very stressful time of year for me. I always had magical Christmases, and they always seemed so effortlessly pulled off. My family always made sure the magic clung to the holidays like cinnamon on a snickerdoodle. This past Christmas was particularly stressful as there were some changes in the family that I needed to process and new added stresses I had to learn to manage. So the day before New Years Eve I decided to visit Hollywood Cemetery by myself. It was misting a freezing rain, and I wasn’t really dressed to sit outside, but I needed the bite of the cold and I needed the respite for my brain. I remember telling my husband my plan and grabbing my journal and pen so I could jot down thoughts as they came while I sat in peace on the hill. As I pulled out of the driveway to leave, one of my favorite singer-songwriters played on my Spotify, Ray LaMontagne. It was the song “Be Here Now”, and I felt all the stress melt away and leave my body. I hadn’t heard the song in a long time and I’d forgotten how lovely it was.

The grass in the cemetery was slick with that misting rain as I trudged down the hillside where I wanted to meditate. I didn’t care if I had to sit on the cold, wet, ground. I needed this reset. I needed to see the river and feel the cold. I saw a bench overlooking the river and walked up to it and sat. The bench was set on a block of concrete, and on the block read “Be Here Now”. I cried. I had chills. So I took it as a sign that I was where I was supposed to be. I wrote in my journal, I poured my heart out. Then I made plans for the following year. I was feeling grateful and incredibly moved. I looked down at the ground next to the bench and there was a small, lovingly-kept little flower bed with a small headstone nestled in the rocks and slumbering plants. I had thought that because of the size it might be a dog’s headstone. Then I noticed the years of his life, and he'd lived to be almost 30, to the day.

His name is Trevor Keagan Wilson. He passed in 2020 during the pandemic, on his mother’s birthday. He was actually on the way to his own birthday party when it happened. Unknowingly, he had kept me company as I cried, planned, wrote and cried some more. His was a steady, sweet presence. And reading his obituary moved my heart. I wonder if his mother knows that he is making a difference, even as he sleeps. So in thanks for his presence, I cleaned his grave of cigarette butts and the bit of litter I found. Before going I took some of the seeds from one of the plants at his grave, which looked like it needed to be deadheaded, with his permission, of course. I still have them, and plan to plant them in his memory, and as a thank you. 

Today was no different. I enjoyed being “here now” next to Trevor, and said hello and thank you.