I was 23 years of age and working in my first full time job when I visited the local cemetery and discovered to my horror that Mum and Dad’s lawn grave had no name plaque at the site. Dad’s coffin was buried above Mum’s. Relatives had felt it best that I not attend Mum’s funeral when I was two or Dad’s funeral when I was eight.
I was 23 years of age and working in my first full time job when I visited the local cemetery and discovered to my horror that Mum and Dad’s lawn grave had no name plaque at the site. Dad’s coffin was buried above Mum’s. Relatives had felt it best that I not attend Mum’s funeral when I was two or Dad’s funeral when I was eight.
I recall running back to the grave register to check I was at the correct plot number and my second return to the site confirmed my worst nightmare – Mum had lain for 21 years without a name plaque and Dad for 15 years.
There was one person responsible – my brother Geoff, who was 10 years older than me. What mortified me the most was that when I phoned my brother to ask why he had never organised a grave plaque, his callous reply was, “What are you worried about? They are dead anyway”. I could barely contain my anger, I hung up the phone.
I immediately contacted the cemetery and they mailed me forms to order a lawn plaque. I wept as I filled in the form and chose the wording “In loving memory of Jed and Mitzy Northam, loved always by your children”.
I completed the remainder of the form then noted that the next of kin was to submit the form. I enclosed a cheque for the plaque and forwarded the form to my brother Geoff with a note asking him to sign the form and forward it to the cemetery. I explained out of respect for my parents and for my own closure on their deaths, it was important that Mum and Dad be given a grave plaque. I was furious and at the same time embarrassed to think that Mum and Dad’s friends had more than likely come to the cemetery to pay their respects yet no-one had ever said anything. It was no excuse but I had just purchased my first car and one of my first excursions was to Mum and Dad’s gravesite.
Three months passed and still I received no word from the cemetery. I followed up with a phone call to the cemetery, however they insisted they had not received a request for a grave plaque under the name of Northam. I felt sick to my stomach. I kindly asked for them to resend me the paperwork.
Within days, I received a request for the production of a lawn grave plaque and without even thinking, I completed the paperwork and forged my brother’s signature in the next of kin area of the form. I also enclosed a note saying could they phone me at work when the plaque was installed and I would let my brother know.
Twenty one days passed when a call was put through to me at work; a friendly lady from the cemetery phoned to say that Mum and Dad’s grave plaque had been fitted that morning. I grabbed my coat, explained to the boss I would be taking an early lunch and I drove down to the local florist. The prettiest flowers I could find were pink miniature roses.
At the cemetery I leaned down and passed my hand over the shiny new lawn plaque, and then the tears came. “I’m so sorry Mum and Dad for the delay of the plaque, please forgive me,” I cried.
I placed the miniature roses on the gravesite and whispered, “God bless you both, I love you”.
I stood to leave when I noticed a noise from behind me – a circle of birds flocked overhead and I knew it was Mum and Dad communicating their thanks to me.
Picture posed by models.
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