I know you're not there. I tell people, "I know he's not there." "He's not there". And it's true. I know beyond the shadow of a doubt where you are. I am happy for you, and often jealous of you. I know one day, sooner or later, I will step into eternity and as soon as you see me, I'll hear--"Beat cha." My competitive amazing kid. And someday in a more perfected body you'll have even more muscles, and your smile will be more perfect. And we'll laugh together again.
But for now, an earthly piece of you remains by the side of the road next to a headstone we had uniquely crafted especially for you. We chose it to represent in the best way we know how that you were strong, and kind and that you were a gift to us, and to many others, and that you loved Jesus. And I don't know exactly how it works, if perhaps occasionally you catch a glimpse of me here but I drop by often to polish the stone and quite frankly to clean off the bird poop. I get so offended by those guys but if I'm honest, if I were a bird and I had my choice of the cemetery, I'd wanna stand there too on that smooth, glassy black granite, and gaze at the sun as it rises in the morning.
It's perfect. So perfect, I noticed recently that as soon as the sun peeks over from the east, glimmers of light crack through the sky and center perfectly right over your headstone. It's amazing. Selfishly, we picked the spot by the road so that your stone might be easily seen. I desperately need you to be seen. So I won't let you be disrespected by bird poop, and I refuse to let you be forgotten.
I still can't drive by most days without pulling in for a minute in the morning or in the evening on my way home. There are some familiar faces now. There's "gray mini-van lady" who stares blankly when I see her, I try to make sure I pull over enough so she can get by me. I wave. She never waves back. I get it. There's "blue car elderly gentleman" who sits in his car almost directly across from me. We are there at the same times almost always--we never acknowledge each other, but I feel like we respect each other.
Occasionally at night I swing by there on my way back from a show or from the gym.
Late one night I sat in my car listening to the radio, completely lost in thoughts or memories only to be quickly thrust back into reality when a ghost of a man, high on something, with a bag slung over his shoulder, dragging a small rolly cart began yelling at me for parking in the grass. I sat frozen, my heart pounding pretending not to hear him as he eventually limped away through the cemetery and disappeared, and then I was saddened when I calmed down because he too is somebody's son, and I talked to God about him and still do now and then.
This week I've had two more notable visits.
It was late, I had gone to the gym but it had been one of those days and so I sat in the gym parking lot and listened to the radio and sobbed while rain sprinkled on the windshield and I watched people obviously more commited than I am, funnel in and out of the gym. It happens. Most days I go in. Others I sit paralyzed.
Gyms are harder for me now than they ever were. You loved the gym. Anyway, I finally drove away and as I got closer to home, I pulled in at the cemetery by your spot. In less than five minutes a police cruiser pulled in behind me. "Oh God, please don't let them shoo me away from Corban's spot. You know how I feel about law enforcement. Please don't let them ask me to leave."
I sat patiently and rolled my window down. I heard the officer call in my license plate. There was a pause and as the officer walked up to me, dispatch reports over the radio, that the car is registered to me and says my name just as the officer approaches my window.
She looks at me. "I am guessing that's you right." "Yes officer". She nods at your stone with torches lit and flaming on each side, and I confirm with a lump in my throat this is my son's spot and as much as I resisted it, my voice cracked.
She explained kindly and professionally there's a city ordinance about being at the cemetery after dark because of vandalism, wished me a goodnight and drove away, and I get it.
I don't condone vandalism, and if I saw anyone mess with a headstone I'd be livid. Especially, blue car guy's spot, or gray mini-van lady's spot.
I sat in the darkness interrupted, and frustrated, and feeling rejected again in my
grief. I'm not sure if that's the right word. But that's how I felt. It's hard to find places to go where I can just feel. Allowing myself to feel these days is hard, it's vulnerable, and embarrassing sometimes.
This morning I stopped by your spot and as soon as I pulled in another vehicle pulled in behind me, I scooted over extra close to your spot assuming gray mini-van lady needed by. Instead it was a family friend who has stopped occasionally before. I stepped out of my car.
"I've been waiting to see you, but I guess I haven't been driving by at the right time. But this morning I saw you, and I don't care if I'm late for work I'm going to tell you this. I didn't really know him, and she points to your spot. I didn't know him, but I need you to know he's not forgotten.
I need you to know that I have watched as young people who did know him have pulled in here to visit this grave. I have seen them stand here in front of this beautiful memorial that is so perfect for him. I need to tell you Corban is not forgotten, and he's ministering and touching lives even in his death, and well, I just needed you to know. And I'm not gonna cry, because I can't cry because I just put this make-up on, but I needed you to know that." And she hugged me and hopped in her car and drove away. And I guess, that's where this entry came from, and again, I'm not sure how it all works, but I needed you to know that.
Help me be Corban strong. Help me continue to serve strong.
--CorbansDad
*If you ever wanna visit Corban's Spot-- It's located off I-40 Genesis Exit, Crossville TN (Bucee's exit). Crossville City Cemetery right off the road on the Wayne Avenue side.
