Martha in an Unmarked Grave

One of the saddest things at Memory Gardens Cemetery are the number of unmarked graves--over twenty--perhaps thirty that I've come across on our twice daily walks. 

Yesterday, I passed one in the middle of the veterans section in the center of the cemetery.  I got about six paces passed it when something hit me like one of the poor schmucks on America's Funniest Home Videos who gets hit in the crotch or runs head-first into a garage door.

Obediently, I returned to the depressed green and brown grass, stood at the foot of the bed and said, "OK, I'm listening," closing my eyes.

I got nothing at first so I was about to open my eyes and walk the dogs homes when I got a voice.

"Martha."

"So you're name's Martha?"

"Martha, Martha, yes."

"What do you want, Martha?"

"Bury my son."

"I don't get it; you want me to bury your son?"

"No, Barry, my son."

"Oh, I get it.  Barry is your son."

"Yes, yes, yes."

"Why didn't he give you a headstone or name plate?"

"Not living in New Mexico.  He's gone--gone."

"He could still have ordered you a stone from where he is.
"Hates me--doesn't want to have anything to do with me."

"That's horrible!  Why would a son desert his mother without marking the place where her dead body lies?."

"Hates me.  He hates me."

"I don't understand.  Did he do something to start such feelings?  Or did you do something?"

"Me, me--I did it."

"This is surprising.  What did you do?"

"I nagged and nagged until I drove him away."

"I'm sorry, Martha.  That's hard."

"I nagged and nagged.  I wanted him to be the man I knew he could be, but it only drove him away."

"That's pretty brave of you to admit you made the mistake.  Most would blame the other person."

"I wasn't a good mother.  But I love him.  I really love him."

"As mothers do--or should do."

"I'm forgotten.  No one remembers me.  I'm alone."

"Martha, I'll be your friend.  I'll make sure the pups and I walk by your grave and remember you, alright?"

"That's very nice of you, young lady."

"My name's Beth."

"Martha."

"No last name?  No, wait, I don't want to know it.  Martha's good enough.  It was nice meeting you Martha.  See you tomorrow morning."

"Good-bye, dear."

"Bye."

This morning I found one of my old flower pots decorative sticks that has "relax" on the top.  I found a card, and wrote a message for Martha on it then put it at the head of her grave--feeling pretty proud of myself.

This afternoon, I found the sprinklers had knocked the card off the stick, but it was only four inches away.  I fixed it and stuck the stick back on her grave.  Told Martha I was thinking of her.  A warm, sweet feeling swept through me.  Thanks Martha, I enjoyed meeting you, too.

Where Martha lies forever.