It is twenty years to the day that Steven perished in a house fire while staying with friends in Vermont. He was 18. His brother Rob, 15 months older, is unusually restless on this day. “I think I should go to Steve’s grave,” he says.
“I’ll go with you,” I offer.
We bring our son Tommy with us. He is a towhead like Steve was and looks a lot like his uncle did growing up. He resembles Steve so much so that Tommy’s grandparents will have a senior moment and call him Steven.
At the simple gravesite in the Village Cemetery behind First Church we kneel or squat before the grave marker.
Being there gives me a chance to talk to Tommy, who at age 12 has expressed fears about death. I share we are a family of faith and believe that death does not have to be final. I tell him Uncle Steve’s human remains are buried here but that his being, his spirit if you will, has moved on to Heaven. Tommy is quiet and nods.
At the precise moment we all rise to leave, the church bell rings out. We are all energized by this serendipitous moment.
We walk the short distance to the car. Rob starts the engine and the radio immediately blares out: “It was twenty years ago today-” from the Beatles “Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Heart Club Band.”
Go Figure! Rob and I take it as a Sign, a la the movie with the same name.
It could also have been a special message to give peace of mind to a worrying nephew.
Melissa Connors
Wethersfield, Ct.
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