No Lines. No Waiting.

No Lines. No Waiting.

There we were in that same cemetery we had been in to bury so many relatives. Again. It was a cremation and so it wasn't as hard watching the Vermont granite box with "Grammie Dot" etched into it being lowered into the small hole as it was Lucinda's wooden casket. But it was by no means easy, either.

I walked away and wandered around the head stones, decorated with American flags and plastic flowers, sat on one of the benches, read the markers...

At one point I looked up and saw my 1/2 cousin, Jeanne walk past her own departed husband's marker up to me. What possible words of wisdom does this one have? I thought.

"You know," she began, the way most people in my family begin sentences. I looked at her and frowned, the way most people in my family listen to sentences.

"When Ma died, somebody told me a story and it changed my perspective about death. Let me share this with you, if it's alright to do so. I know it's hard." 

What was I going to say to that? "Sure," I said, with trepidation. 

"Here we are," she began, "all upset because your mother is gone. We are heartsick and so upset, asking ourselves ' Where did she go?WHY WHY did she have to go?' "

Tears came to my eyes and Jeanne forged on.

"But all of your family, your dad, your grandparents, her brothers, your sister? All the ancestors...They are all up there running toward her clapping and laughing and saying, " Where is she? There she is! Here she is!"  

There are no lines in Heaven. No waiting to get in. I really believe Mother died when she did, after her own daughter and her own granddaughter so they could welcome her to eternity, clapping and shouting and dancing and laughing, and probably holding fists of wildflowers, just like they did when we were little.