A Toast Overheard in the Cemetery: “This Bud’s for You, Brother”
A woman sharing a beer with her deceased brother in the cemetery melted my heart…
It was Memorial Day weekend, and I was at the only cemetery I visit when that time comes around. It’s a short drive, just about twenty minutes north of where I live, and my great grandparents are buried there.
No one else in the family goes there anymore because we’ve all scattered across the state and the country. But I am here, so I make sure to go at least on this one weekend each year to take care of my great-grandparents’ shared headstone, which is placed flat into the ground instead of being vertical where it can be easily seen. Because it is flat, the grass grows over it, and without attention it can become overgrown and then become invisible.
Depending on how the weather has been, some years it’s a real challenge to cut away the grass that has grown over the stone, wash off the brass marker, and let the beauty of it appear again. And I think it is beautiful. My great grandmother’s favorite flower was the violet, and I love how there are violets depicted in the upper corners of the stone she shares with my great grandfather.
So I was at the cemetery working hard on digging out the overgrown grass around the headstone and clearing away the dirt, when I heard a pop-top can flip open behind me. I try to keep to myself when I’m at the cemetery in order to allow everyone their privacy as they spend time with their lost loved ones in ways that mean the most to them. But try as I might, I could not contain my curiosity. I just couldn’t. Despite my best efforts, I turned around to see who was having something to drink at the cemetery, thinking, I mean, really…can’t you wait until you get back to your car… less than a minute’s walk away?
And there behind me, I saw a woman with a Budweiser tallboy. Again, I thought…REALLY? But – whatever - none of my business - so I went back to stabbing at the grass in front of me with my trowel. And then I heard her talking. I tried not to listen, as again I want to give people privacy in that special place that is a cemetery. Then I realized she was talking to me. I stood up and turned around to see her looking at me while she continued to talk. I took a few steps toward her so that we could easily hear each other but still not invade her space.
And what she said so touched my heart. She wanted to explain why she was there with a beer, although I assured her there was absolutely no need for an explanation (even though I certainly was curious). But I realized that what she really wanted to do was to share her story, and I wanted to listen, so that she could share it with someone. It seems the person she was there for was her younger brother. They had been very close, and he had been gone for a long time. He’d left way too early when he was only 24 years old. And, yes, many years had gone by, but she still missed him so much.
Before he left, they had time for some special moments and good conversations. And he told her not to ever spend money on flowers for him because they cost a lot, and really, he wasn’t much of a fan. “Instead,” he’d said, “I’d rather you just have a beer for me.” So every year that’s what she does. She buys him his favorite beer, goes to where she physically feels close to him, pops the top, and pours the entire beer over his grave. And as I watched her share the beer with him, she said, “This Bud’s for you, brother.” Then she blew a kiss over his headstone and walked to her car. And I just stood there with tears streaming down my face, as I could feel the love she had for him and how much she missed him. I really felt honored to have witnessed such a heartfelt tribute to someone who was loved so much.
I don’t know if she and I will ever be at the cemetery at the same time again, but now every time I am there, I will think of her, and of him, and silently raise up a toast to both of them.
What a wonderful story Connie. Thank you!
Random moments at the cemetery go so deep! A couple years ago my sister and I were standing over a grave of some very distant long-gone relative. My sister is deep into genealogy, and she had wanted to see his grave. But we didn’t know much about him at all. A woman came up to us, pointed to his grave, and she said, “When I was a little girl, he drove our school bus. One day, there was a horrible snowstorm, and the bus got stuck in a ditch. I was the last kid on the bus, so he carried me on his back a mile to the nearest farmhouse to keep me safe and warm until the road got cleared.”
Suddenly, this relative who had only been a name and some dates on a family tree had a beautiful story attached to him….I was so glad to have so randomly crossed paths with this lady.
Your story reminds me of the last line of a poem by Phillip Larkin, “What will survive of us is love.”
Thanks for this!!