I know, I know…what in the world is there to do with your young children at a cemetery? Well, over by the Burbank Airport, you can see a beautifully sculpted building from the outside of a fence at a park we frequent. I’ve been noticing it for years but never knew what it was. My curiosity finally got the best of me and I drove up to it only to find the fence locked with a sign saying there was an aviation museum inside and telling you where to enter. The entrance is a place I’ve seen plenty of times, about a mile and a half away…The Valhalla Memorial Park.
So, I drove to the entrance, pulled in very slowly and immediately had a strong urge to leave, and if there had been a clear exit marked, I just might have. Right ahead of me was a funeral service in process. My hands went to ten and two on the steering wheel and grasped for dear life. I felt a small rush of blood go to my head and I tried to tell myself that I was just being dramatic, but the truth was, I wasn’t. I wasn’t over exaggerating how I was feeling at all.
I proceeded slowly through the parked cars of those attending this service, my eyes gazed upon the sea of people in black sitting and standing under a green canopy. They surrounded a casket, with presumably someone they love lying on the inside. I could hear my son asking me a question over and over in the back of the van, but I was sincerely unable to answer him as I was processing the fear going on inside of me. This scene is probably the absolute most horrifying part of death. Once you’ve lost someone, whether it sudden, expected or tragic…this last, final part of standing over a box and a deep hole is terrifying.
“Mom!” Hayden shouts. “Where are we?!”
I told him we were at a cemetery, and he was silent for only a moment. But in that moment, I saw a grave dug for a second funeral, I assumed was to be held later that day. The canopy was set, the chairs were out and the pile of dirt was visible. Beyond that was a man sitting cross-legged near the headstone of someone gone. I could see his lips moving as he read out of a small book to this person lying below him. Even farther down the beautifully landscaped road I saw a young girl, with her bike parked, lying on her side next to a grave. She had her headphones on and seemed to be sleeping.
“Mom, is this where Grandma Rose is?” He said softly.
“No, honey. We’re here to go look at something. This is a different cemetery. Not the one where Grandma Rose is”
“Your mom died.” He said.
“Yes, she did.” I confirmed. Every time the kids say this, it takes everything I have not to yell. "You shut your mouth. I know she died. I was there! I saw it! She was my mom and I know she died.!!!" But obviously I never say that.......
“Why did she die?” He asked.
“She was sick with cancer.” I explained, regretting that this was not the first time my little boy had heard me explain cancer.
This is where people DIE?”
I chuckled a bit, not sure why. His infliction on the word die was comical.
“No, sweetie. They don’t die here. But when people die, we bury them here, remember?” I asked him if he remembered expecting a 3 year old to actually remember.
“We bury them in the grass?” he asked.
“No, we bury them in a pretty box under the grass.”
“In the DIRT?” Again…the inflection made me laugh.
“Yes Buddy. In the dirt” I replied.
“But why?”
“Well, Hayden. When we die, our souls are gone and we don’t need our bodies anymore. So we put people’s bodies in the ground to go back to the Earth.”
“Oh, yeah.” He said, as if he really did remember.
We moved on and I found my way to the building I was looking for. It was beautiful. It turns out it is a shrine to those lost who marveled the aviation world. There was charming scenery; beautiful headstones and evidence that loved ones had just visited a few of them. I spent a good amount of time looking around the building while I let the kids play in the grass and sit on the big rocks surrounding a pretty fountain. I suppose the location of this shrine didn’t quite get my attention until a large plane took off from the airport and I realized the flight path was directly overhead. Courtney, Hayden and I were all struck silent as we watched these planes fly feet above us honoring these men and women who spent their lives in aviation.
On our way out, I saw a young man with a child. He stood solemnly still, hands folded in prayer with his head low over a grave while the child seemed to be picking grass. The other man was still there reading aloud to his love one lost and I drove as slowly out as I did in with respect to that funeral service that seemed to be coming to a close. Oh, what a terrible, final part of death that is…the funeral service and burial.
Setting aside the extreme sadness I encountered upon entering, I have to say, I had a nice time with my children. It really was a lovely cemetery.
