Ice Cream and Gravesites

I heard a story today that touched my heart in the most mysterious way. Before I tell that story, I'd like to tell a story of my own about someone very dear to me who died without me even being able to say goodbye to her.

My favorite place to go when I was a child was to my mom's hometown, actually six miles or so outside of city limits. My friend was a person of few words and had a love that seemed to know no end. When it came time for my parents to want to leave, Grandma would always ask us if we would like to have some ice cream and cake before we leave. Eventually my brother and I learned this was a good way to delay our departure back home which took several hours. We learned to say, "Grandma, can I have some ice cream." Because she loved us more than her own self, she would always say yes. And we were usually able to buy another thirty minutes or so before we had to leave.

Unfortunately, Grandma is not here with us, at least not in visible site. And that is why the next story I want to tell is so touching. The story is quite simple. There was a person who ate ice cream at the graveside where his parents were buried. That's the story. And there is something that is literally bittersweet (no pun intended) about that kind of a scenario. I imagine myself doing that very thing, asking Grandma why she didn't call me while she was in the hospital or why she didn't do this or that to prevent her passing. And I know that as I eat that ice cream that Grandma is somehow with me just as the person who actually did this experienced her or his loved ones' presence as s/he ate that ice cream.