Mincey’s Musings
Year Two, Week Twenty

A few days ago, I was eating with some colleagues from work at my favorite restaurant in the world, the 33 Diner. One of these friends was enjoying hearing me repeat some of my stories. (It amazes me that there are those who enjoy hearing my twice, thrice, or over told tales!)

I was wrapped up in myself enough that I must have gotten louder than maybe I should have, for as I was leaving an elderly lady asked me, “Are you a lawyer or preacher?” I told her neither, that I was a teacher.

Actually, I have not taught a public school class since 1995. I have taught adult Sunday School and adjunct reading classes at Walters State, but my income these days comes from being the Supervisor of Federal Programs for the Union County Public Schools. Most people do not understand what that title means, so it is easier to say that I am a teacher. And this is not an untruth. To those who have the calling to teach others, it becomes a way of life.

I do find it interesting that the elderly lady thought I might be either a lawyer or preacher. I have been confused over the years with both the Rev. Eddie Perry and Attorney K. David Myers, both of whom I am proud to call and be called friend. Perhaps this lady thought I was one of them—if she did, I probably left her somewhat confused.

I do occasionally find it interesting to think about what others think of me, especially those who have just met me for the first time. If only they knew . . .

To you, the perhaps unaware reader, I am going to reveal one of my dark sides. I have always had a fascination with death. I saw my first dead body when I was seven. It was my Aunt Roberta in her casket at Ailor’s Mortuary. That event is burned into my mind as my mother passed down to me a picture of Aunt Roberta in her casket. Taking pictures of deceased relatives was very common in our part of the country a few decades ago and is still practiced by some families today.

The second corpse I remember is Bobby Asbury, son of our neighbor Larma Asbury. Bobby was in on furlough from the army and drowned while swimming in a lake. He was buried in his Army uniform. His funeral was held in Ailor’s Chapel, and one of the songs sung was “He’ll Hold to My Hand”.

Over the years I attended several more funerals. I remember when my Uncle Rob Mincey died in July 1978. His funeral was held at Black Fox Primitive Baptist Church. This is the first of very few occasions I remember being in that church, and it is the first time I remember being in Cabbage Cemetery. I was captivated with its beautiful hardwood floors. I was also fascinated by the ceremony of the funeral—the opening and closing of the casket, arranging of the cloth fringes, moving of the casket, the flowers, the a capella male quartet, the pallbearers, and the graveside ceremony. I noted with particular interest that E. J. Ailor removed Uncle Rob’s glasses and laid them on his shoulder just before closing the casket lid for the last time. The third of four existing photographs of my father, mother and me was taken in that graveyard on the day of Uncle Rob’s interment.

Since that day I have visited the Cabbage Cemetery many times. My own father was to be buried there in February 1982. One of the first places I drove when I got my license was to the Cabbage Cemetery.

I was a timid new driver, so I parked at Black Fox Church and my mother and I walked up the hill to the cemetery. That was an approximate one-half mile, uphill trek on a curvy, graveled one lane road. Mother and I visited there several times over the years. I always got a peaceful feeling strolling among the final resting places of so many of my paternal relatives, both those I had known and those who passed long before I was born. I especially love to go there in the fall when the leaves are at the peak of their changing colors.

In days of youth, I began to ponder where my own final resting place would be. I laid down on the ground and folded my hands over my chest to try out one particular spot. My mother exclaimed in horror, “What are you doing?” To my reply that I was trying out my grave, she said, “Get up from there!!!” Several minutes and miles later she said, “That bothers me.” I asked what she was talking about. “You laying down in the graveyard like that.” I had already forgotten about the whole thing, but it preyed on her mind.

Not to worry, my poor mother has been gone fifteen years this January just past. You guessed it; she now resides at 200 Cabbage Cemetery Road. I buried her above my father with one space in between, so that Dad could be flanked on either side by his youngest sons from his two marriages with his wives on the other sides of their sons. This seemed appropriate.

But then I married and acquired a stepson. I told my wife that I wanted to be buried at Cabbage, and that she could go with me if she so chose. She did so choose, so I acquired three graves up the hill above my Aunt Duskie and Uncle Roy Jones. I have a spot picked next to Uncle Roy, with my stepson Dustin (who passed away March 31 of this year) in the grave to my right. His mother/my wife has a spot on Dustin’s right. Dustin will be between us for our final rest. This seems appropriate, as he once so correctly and adequately stated, “I’m the glue that holds you two together.”

I made two visits alone to visit the graves of Dustin and my other relatives. I always get such a feeling of peace being alone in the cemetery with my memories of loved ones passed, knowing the peace from the sufferings of this present world which they experience, realizing that I one day too will enjoy that peace.

On a spring evening about two weeks ago, my wife accompanied me to make her first visit to her son’s grave. As I stood at the head of my mother’s grave, I looked over to where my wife knelt next to Dustin’s grave and saw a most beautiful sight. The setting sun filtered through the trees and cast a twilight shadow on the graveyard while lighting the brilliant new leaves on the trees to the east in a most beautiful shade of green, like stained glass. Faintly, almost undetectable, I saw a double rainbow in the northeastern sky.

I could not help but think that as beautiful as this was to me, what Dustin now sees and enjoys in God’s Heaven is infinitely more beautiful. I like to think it was God allowing Dustin to say, “You’re right, I’m fine, all is well, I suffer no more.”

There are those who undoubtedly would say I am the perfect epitome of a sentimental fool. Think what you will, but in this instance, I’ll take my thoughts over theirs any day.
I once heard Preacher Charlie Lynch say in a sermon, “Christians plant their dead, like seeds, knowing that in due season they will spring forth in newness of life.” I have many loved ones planted in Cabbage Cemetery, and I know that one day they will sprout into new life. Is it any reason that, “I go to the garden alone . . .”