Dear Mister Cemetery Man,
I would like to take the opportunity to tell you on this, the worst day of the year, that you suck.
You suck ass biscuits.
Why is today the worst day of the year? What has happened today that was so terrible?
Something cataclysmic occurred on this date four years ago.
My Nanny, without doubt the person I adored more than any other (until my niece came along and they had to share the title), died.
On this, the anniversary of the day she left my life forever, I like to do something positive, something she would be proud of. Two years ago I managed to make that National Novel Writing Month, and I have continued the tradition since.
Today I was unable to do that, due to work commitments. That already made it a bad day, but it grew steadily worse from the moment I opened my eyes.
I awoke to find my mother already leaving the house to make the trip to see my Pop, and take him to the cemetery to visit my Nanny’s grave. Undressed and bleary eyed I was not even capable of asking her to wait five minutes, and even if I had been she wouldn’t have been able to do so. Regardless, I would have had to have driven myself, as I have a MASSIVE backlog of work that needs completing. Mum was spending the day with my sister and niece. I had to spend the day working.
So I remained at home as she left to find flowers and visit with her much-missed mum. I sat at my computer, exhausted beyond reason and incredibly sad, and toiled away hour after hour, trying desperately to finish all my work.
I reached 4pm and decided enough was enough – I’d been working every waking hour for nine days straight and I needed a break. So I got in my car and trundled to the shop, arriving to find it was closed because–in my upset and general state of exhaustion–I had forgotten it was Sunday. Unable to purchase the heather pot-plant I was intending to buy for the occasion, I was forced to make a second stop at the petrol station for fuel–coffee, that is, to keep me from falling asleep at the wheel. I then made a further stop at the small Tesco on the way out of town to purchase some flowers. Not ideal, but at least I managed to get them in the right colours.
From there I embarked on the forty minute journey from my house to where my beloved Nanny was buried. It is at this point, dear cemetery man, that you come into the story. For while the journey was treacherous–filled with pot holes, oncoming darkness, and descending fog so thick I couldn’t see more than a foot in front of the car–I persevered.
I arrived, only to find you had done something that nobody has every succeeded in doing before.
You kept me from my Nanny.
I realise she’s been dead for four years, but that hasn’t stopped me, not once. I have made it there every anniversary, every birthday, every Christmas, every Easter, and many, many other days in between when I have simply felt the need to go and say hello.
Come hell or high water, when I have wanted to get into that grave yard, I have found a way to do it.
Not so today, oh no.
Today you excelled yourself.
Today you so successfully BARRICADED yourself in among the restfully sleeping dead.
There was no way in.
I saw your lights on and your curtains twitching.
I know you saw me, standing at the gate, pathetic bunch of flowers in hand, tears streaming down my face as I desperately tried to find a way in.
Had I been a group of youths, or an angry man with an axe, I could have understood you ignoring me.
Had I appeared in my usual attire, resplendent in black and adorned with a top hat, I could understand your reluctance, especially as it is one a day after Halloween.
I was alone.
Dressed very demurely.
And I simply wanted to lay some flowers on my Nanny’s grave.
The way was shut.
So thank you, Mister Cemetery Man, for making an impossible day so much harder. If you dislike dealing with grieving family members intent upon seeing their loved ones, I would question the wisdom of choosing to take a job as groundskeeper at a cemetery and, further still, living within its boundaries.
I shall be back, and you can rest assured that should I see you we will be having words.
You won’t like them.
One Pissed Off Goth