Flowers for the Living, Flowers for the Dead: The Renewal of Me

 

Of course I’d end up in a cemetery this morning. 

It’s 10 a.m. I’m looking from headstone to headstone.

I used to be able to find my brother so quickly. I don’t know how he became lost in this ocean of headstones. An ocean of death.

And yes, I broke down.

Yes, I realized where I was. And yes, I noticed something else. Every name feels familiar. Every last name, every surname—I keep going to it, thinking maybe it’s someone I knew. Then I move to another. And another.

I haven’t found anyone I know.

But I recognize the names.

And that’s what gets me. All these surnames, entire lines of people—gone. Even the ones I knew with those same names… gone.

Death just happens.

Why does it have to happen?

It doesn’t feel like it should. It doesn’t feel like it’s supposed to. This shouldn’t have happened.

And then it hits me—this is where I’ll be one day. Just another name on a headstone.

Forgotten.

Because a lot of these don’t look like they’ve been visited in a long time. Some have. But most? It looks like maybe 80% are just… left.

Forgotten.

Yes, including my brother. Including my grandmother. Both here.

My grandmother… that’s complicated. It was almost intentional, not coming out here more. Because of how she treated my mother.

We loved her growing up. My mom loved her. But as I got older, hearing my mom’s stories, her struggles, putting things together—after learning what narcissism really is—I saw it differently.

And I couldn’t bring myself to praise someone who hurt the most important person in my life.

Still… my mom loved her.

And that matters.

I haven’t even been able to get a plot for my mom yet. That bothers me. It’s financial. That’s the reality. She’s cremated. She’s in her room.

In a way, she’s close to me.

But she’s not.

It’s not her.

⸻

I’ve been hurting for a while now.

There’s no switch to turn it off. I walk around with it—this deep ache in my chest. Sadness that doesn’t leave. And I know it’s affecting everything. My relationships. My interactions. My normal life.

It seeps into everything. It invades my life.

And I don’t think people want to be around someone like that. The sad guy. The one always mourning.

I don’t know how to undo this.

It feels final.

Like a sentence.

There’s no reversing her death. No reversing this feeling. This reality. This constant weight.

Am I really that messed up?

How is it that everyone else just… keeps going?

Even my dad says, “We all have to die.”

My counselor says the same thing in a different way. She told me about her mom passing. That it was hard, but she learned to carry it.

Not move past it—carry it.

She even said she gets distracted sometimes, forgets her mom is gone because of how her brain works.

That sounds horrible to me.

Forgetting?

I don’t want to forget.

⸻

Before I came here, I stopped to see Mary—my mom’s best friend since high school.

I brought her flowers.

Pulled up, got them out, handed them to her. I told her I wasn’t that great of a flower arranger, but I hoped she liked them.

She said she loved them.

She gave me a hug.

That felt good.

I really feel close to Mary. I’m just happy that she’s been there since my mom passed.

It’s sad that I’m not really sure what happened to Leilani, but I can’t really take her flowers. I wish she didn't have to go either. Death is unkind.

So I guess that’s that.

So that was my day.

Flowers for the living.

And then I came here… to try and give flowers to the dead.

That’s what this day became.

⸻

So I’m here now.

Still in the cemetery.

Still searching.

I called a contact I know—Linda. She helps with plots here in Rockport Cemetery. There’s no real organization running this place. It’s basically volunteers.

She’s trying to help me find my brother and my grandmother.

We talked about plots.

$975. That covers two cremations or one body and one cremation.

I’m saving that so I can get a plot for my mother. And eventually, if something happens to my father, that’s where he would be laid to rest.

My brother Daniel died in 1995. House fire. I was 16.

He’s somewhere here.

His plot would be utilized also for my brother Jeremy if anything should ever happen to him.

So then that just leaves me.

And I don’t know where I’ll end up.

Probably alone.

Life is hard, apparently death is also.

⸻

Right now, Linda is sending me photos of a map—2008, hand-drawn, hard to read.

She just had eye surgery done. She’s using a magnifying glass, trying to help me make sense of it and guide me.

And I’m here, circling row to row in my car, trying to follow along.

Before we got off the phone, she said it didn't sound like I wasn’t having a very good time.

She could tell I was going through something.

And right before hanging up, she told me she was going to pray for me.

⸻

Linda told me about her life too.

She’s 77.

She didn’t expect her life to turn out like this. Her husband is 81. Alzheimer’s. She takes care of him. He’s only comfortable with her and their son.

That’s it.

That’s his world now.

And it’s sad. All of it is sad. Everywhere you turn, it’s pain, loss, struggle.

Even when I used to write feature obituaries, I had to step into people’s lives through their loved ones.

And then… close it.

Write the final date.

Mourn them in a way.

Death has always been around me.

I don’t know why.

But it’s constant.

⸻

I drove around for a while. Burned through a quarter tank.

I finally realized—

I’m not going to find them today.

Maybe not ever.

And the truth is… they’re gone anyway.

I’m just leaving flowers where their remains are.

That’s it.

That’s all this is.

⸻

On the way out of the cemetery, I pulled up next to a vehicle entering. I asked the driver if she knew how the cemetery was arranged.

She didn’t.

She said she comes every day. She’s a photographer. Takes pictures of flowers.

I told her I was a journalist.

Or at least I was.

She said if she ever sees my brother’s or grandmother’s names, she’ll put flowers on their graves. And asked me for their names. I gave them to her. Daniel Aleman and Guadalupe Perez.

I got out of my car and handed her a long-stem pink rose. She smiled and thanked me. It made her happy. I was onto to something. I was just going to show love to random people. 

My first idea was to cut the stems and toss the corollas into the ocean, but this was a better idea.

⸻

On the way back home, I was passing by a nursing home—one my mom used to volunteer at. I didn't notice it at first but as soon as I did, I stopped abruptly and pulled into the parking lot.

My mom would go with her Ipo hula group, which was her, Leilani, and Roberta and they'd perform. Ukulele. Hula dancing. I was always front row recording them bring light into the lives of others.

I was already discouraged. I didn’t find my brother. I didn’t find my grandmother.

So I went inside with buckets of roses and bouquets of carnations. 

I asked the receptionist if I would be able to give the flowers out to the residents just to make their day a bit better. 

After making a phone call, she gave me the green light.

I started handing out bouquets and single-stem roses to as many residents as I could.

They were happy.

I was grateful that they were happy.

I wasn’t looking for praise or validation.

They gave me that anyway.

I didn’t really know how to take it, but I’m glad it made them happy.

I just told them it was a token of a good gesture.

I wished them a great rest of their day.

⸻

I met Patty and Tina. They shared a room.

I gave them long-stem yellow roses.

They both lit up.

Almost at the same time, they both said, “These are my favorite color.”

Tina said, “I have yellow roses.”

Patty said, “Yeah, this is my favorite color. I’m from Texas. Of course it is.”

I checked my bucket afterward.

I didn’t have any more.

So I went back in and told them, “Looks like you ladies got the last two yellow roses.”

They smiled.

⸻

I had three bouquets.

The very last bouquet went to a woman named Rosa.

Rosa Rodriguez, she said.

She asked, “Are these for sale?”

I said, “No. These are for you.”

She said, “Wow, they’re so beautiful.”

I told her, “For some reason, they made it into your hands. I was passing by and just decided to drop in. I only had three bouquets—carnations—and now these ones are in your hands. They were meant for you.”

She said she appreciated them.

She was happy.

She told me she doesn’t have any family.

Everyone in her family is gone. Absolutely no one left.

She said she’s all alone.

I told her, “Well, you’re not alone.”

I said, “It may seem like that. Sometimes, for me, it feels like I’m all alone too. So I understand.”

I told her I would come back and see her again.

And I’ll hold to that.

⸻

On my way out, I handed the last pink long-stem rose to a nurse—Brianna.

She had been kind to me when I first came in.

As she walked into Rosa’s room, Rosa called out and said, “Hey, before you go, I have your scissors.”

I guess I had dropped them in her room trimming foliage.

She gave them back to me.

Then Brianna asked me, “Are you from the church?”

I said, “Well, I mean… I go to church.”

⸻

I had one more white long-stem rose left in my bucket.

I gave it to the receptionist.

I said, “This one is for you. I just wanted to make sure I had all the residents covered, but I hope you have a good rest of your day too.”

She said thank you.

That was it.

I wasn’t looking for validation.

I just figured… why throw them away?

If they could bring someone even a little bit of joy, then that was enough.

On the drive, I saw vultures.

A lot of them.

Probably the largest group I’ve ever seen.

Feasting. Just another reminder of death.

⸻

I had just passed a church prior to seeing those scavengers.

There was a sign out front.

“We walk by faith, not by sight.”

I don’t know.

Maybe I’m supposed to hold on to that.

My word of the day.

⸻

I still had some flowers left in my car.

Mixed roses. Pink and white.

There were about three pink and two white.

I tried to go to Leilani’s house to give them to her sister.

But I couldn’t remember where she lived.

So my thought was to give them to the next person who I felt they were meant for.

⸻

All I know right now, at this point, is I’m hurting.

I’m hurting over a lot of things.

I’m hurting over some recent, unexpected, and confusing situations that have happened.

I’m hurting over my loss.

I’m hurting over my health.

I’m hurting over life.

And I’m worrying about things that haven’t even happened yet… but might.

I don’t know what else to say or do.

This morning, while I was lying in bed struggling on every level—mentally, physically, and emotionally—my dad told me to place it all in God’s hands.

But I’m still worried.

I’m still sad.

I’m still hurting.

⸻

Someone I love recently pulled away.

And I don’t understand it.

I’m sure there are reasons. There always are. But I don’t know what they are, and right now, it doesn’t make sense.

Maybe it’s personal. Maybe it’s deeper than me. Processing things. Old wounds. Stress. Trauma. I don’t know.

What I do know is how it was done.

It wasn’t kind.

It was hurtful. Confusing. Non-communicative.

This wasn’t how we said we would handle things. We had an understanding. We talked about it. And when the moment came, that understanding wasn’t followed.

And then something else happened.

A boundary that had been crossed before—more than once. But it was never firm. Not because it didn’t matter, but because I understood the pattern, and I was also told she didn’t like confrontation.

So I knew it wasn’t easy for her to reach out.

She told me that. She told me there were times she had already missed me and wanted to reach out, but couldn’t.

And then we would just pick it back up—before the weirdness, before the shutdown—like none of that space had to be explained.

So I carried that part.

I was the one who reached out.

The one who bridged the gap.

The one who made it easier for us to come back without having to walk through everything that just happened.

It worked. At least it always had before.

Until it didn’t.

And it didn’t come with distance or silence.

It came with escalation.

With rage. With threats.

And that part sits heavy.

I stepped in—but only because I was worried.

And when things escalated, I still didn’t want to leave.

Not because I’m stubborn.

Not because I’m bullheaded.

But because I could see this wasn’t the person that I knew.

I saw the pain.

I saw something breaking.

And I felt like I needed to be there for that.

So it wasn’t me trying to force anything.

It was me trying to stay for someone I love and care about who was obviously hurting and going through something.

But the push was too hard.

So I left.

And I left confused.

And I’m still confused.

Because if something was hurting her—if something was breaking inside of her—I would have been there.

Not halfway.

Not conditionally.

Fully there.

And I still would be.

But I’m not allowed to be there.

And that hurts.

And it adds to everything else.

⸻

I’m not so happy about life.

And I definitely hate death.

I don’t know what to do with this.

And that’s where I’m at.

⸻

But I can’t help but feel like maybe it’s me.

Maybe it’s the sadness and grief that I’m holding.

And it almost felt like a confirmation, because I met someone yesterday—a stranger—who came up to me and said, “You look exhausted. You look tired. You look sad.”

And I didn’t know how to take that.

Then they said, “You look lost.”

I’ve never had anyone tell me that before.

And I said, “Well… I guess maybe I am.”

I asked, “You could tell all that?”

She said, “Yeah.”

And I told her, “I’m carrying a lot.”

And that’s when it hit me.

Maybe it really is seeping into my life.

Maybe it’s affecting other people.

Maybe it isn’t.

I don’t know.

All I know is I have to do something about it if I’m going to continue to be here.

⸻

On the way back home, I stopped by where my dad works.

He had called earlier while I was at the nursing home, and I didn’t answer.

So I went to see him.

I told him everything.

That I wasn’t well.

He could tell.

He called someone from his church.

That’s how I ended up there.

⸻

I ended up going to the church. My father’s nephew Jerry was there waiting for me—he goes to the same church as my dad.

And it was my last attempt to try to figure out how to heal, how to get over this, because obviously other things weren’t working.

Well, we discussed everything.  Life, Death, Scripture—God’s word. They explained a lot of important things that everyone should know to proceed on the right path.

Ultimately, Jerry and his wife Ofelia prayed over me and I ended up confessing things that which I still hadn’t forgiven, which I thought I had. Which is crazy, because I thought I had forgiven everything just recently, and I guess I really hadn’t.

There was more stuff to get out.

Other things aside from forgiving things was asking for forgiveness of myself—things that I’ve done—and in prayer over others that I felt needed it.

And I asked for God to come into my life and cleanse all of that.

Renew me.

Even though I had been renewed several times before, I guess maybe it’s something that’s supposed to be an ongoing, consistent thing to stay on top of.

Because from what I learned is evil will seep in through any crack if you leave it open.

Any little gateway.

Any little door.

And especially if you dwell, if you’re constantly fixated on the negative or darkness, that’s what you see.

And eventually that’s what you become.

And so it ended different.

It ended different than I thought.

I actually had to rewrite this blog entry to reflect that.

Because I am renewed.

I also prayed for my loved one I mentioned earlier—for whatever it is she’s going through—and asked God to help with our situation.

My thoughts aren’t on the darkness at this moment.

And I realize you have to watch what you say—what you confess with your tongue—because those things can take shape in your life. 

I left from that church not feeling how I felt when I got there.

It was a desperate attempt to try to figure out how to not be in this deep depression.

And it worked.

I hope it continues to stay.

And part of that confession and praying had to do with me releasing my mother to God.

That was the most difficult thing to do.

But from what I was told, it’s not necessarily letting her go or forgetting her.

All of these things are hard.

But I did feel different when I left.

I’m just hoping this time it sticks.

But also from what I’m told is the enemy will constantly remind you, so he’ll bring it back.

So there’s a lot of rebuking.

A lot of running—not walking—involved in this journey.

I’m not sure what today will bring, this evening, tomorrow, but there is a little bit of a weight lifted.

I was headed down a really dark path.

But at least it’s not so bad at this moment.

It was good seeing the people I saw today at that church.

Agape.

The highest form of love in Greek.

Selfless.

Unconditional.

Sacrificial.

And I’m going to have to constantly be in prayer.

And I’m going to command anything that’s dark or evil to leave the house in the name of Jesus.

Stay away from my thoughts.

And just get deeper in the Word.

Stay on top of that.

Because if you let off, you can go places that you don’t want to.

Stay on top of it.

I just arrived in my driveway.

It’s time to keep moving.

Flowers are a different story.

I’ll talk about how I got the flowers to give to everyone in the next entry.

And I’m actually going to be continuously getting flowers for the next month.

My plan is to continue to take them to nursing homes.

Because today was a good day.

I noticed that it really brought light to a lot of darkness.

Really lit a lot of faces up that needed it.

And that’s something that I want to do.

And I ended up giving Jerry’s wife the mixed bundle of roses I had left.

She said it made her happy.

So they were meant for her.

Flowers for the living.

Flowers for the dead.

Darkness versus light.

The renewal of me.