. . . Who’s This Guy?

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Hey There!

Ooooh, friends. I feel like it’s been a long while since we’ve had one of those “This could only happen to me” stories. Well, in this case it’s a “This could only happen to my family” story.

You may recall that in December we always go up to visit the family graves and lay wreaths on the headstones. 

Now you would think that this would be a relatively calm day. Laid back, quiet even. I know that’s more or less what I expected. 

We creep through the entrance of the cemetery and up to the family plot. My father hops out, let’s the tailgate down, pulls the first wreath out, and begins to adjust the ornaments and bows, while my grandmother and I go back and forth about whether it’s too cold to get out of the car. Eventually, both she and I bumble out of the car and join my father and mother walking up to the plot.

As we near the headstone, my father stops. Still holding the wreath, he looks down at a grave just barely covered with new grass and goes, “Huh. Who’s this guy?”

It was absolutely the last thing I anticipated him saying. But sure enough, we had a new neighbor. 

Now we had always been told that the family plot had four spaces left. The plot is a square, and there is a family headstone in the center of the plot. Currently, there are two spaces occupied both in front of the headstone and on the back side of the headstone.

The remaining four spots are also split with two in the front and two in the back; however, they’re split (and I can’t help but want to describe it like a 2-pin split in bowling) with one on each side of the current tenant. Upon closer inspection, our new neighbor is juuuuuuuust outside of a newly discovered plot marker to the left of a very, very tiny open plot that I don’t believe any new vault will fit.

Needless to say, the family is a bit concerned and will be reaching out to the cemetery to review plot boundaries and the like, but really – what does one DO at this point?!

He’s rather settled into his new digs at this point. (Sorry, too punny? Too terrible?) I told my parents that I don’t need a spot anyway. I’m rather attached to the idea of being cremated and turned into one of those memorial tree pods. Heck, I may even buy an acre or two of land somewhere and put down some roots. Make a family plot – add a picnic table, tire swing. That way the family can all get together for summer picnics . . . 

What would you do in this situation? Let me know!

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