I was still at work today and thought how lonely will it be to go to the cemetery today by myself, without any family members. But as I tried to find (illegal) parking by the kerb, I was pleasantly surprised at the good turnout. It didn't make me feel too lonely. As I entered the gates, I can see the Bishop halfway presiding through mass. Among the headstones, as the sun was setting, it was quite a sight to behold, as he lifted the Host and people kneeling on the wet grass.
I wandered further down the sea of headstones, down, down, towards the older part where the remains of my grandfather resides. I walked pass impressive headstones, with statues of angels and marbled tiles, surrounded by bouquets of flowers and lit candles. As I looked around, I felt an overwhelming sense of sadness for the grandfather I never knew, for being the only one to visit him today, for the plainness of his grave. My eyes welled as I make my way through the soggy ground, and when I finally reached his grave I just cried and cried to find a daisy stalk already there. Whoever it was, I was grateful. There I sat for quite awhile, lighting tea candles, and removing grass from the gravestone. On both sides of my grandpa's, there were two forgotten ones. A young soldier with a beret on his right, and a very old wooden cross bearing the name of Andrew on his left. Along with a few other people, I went around lighting candles around the graves of those who had no one to pray for them. I pinched off a few flower buds from my bouquet for them. Because I would want people to do the same for me when it's my time to depart.
Then, on to visit my great grandfather. Again, flowers were already put on his grave, with candles. I later found out that it was one of my distant cousins who paid her respect, before moving on to visit her child's grave.
My fuel meter was already blinking when I reached the hospital gates this morning. So as I made my way after work to cemetery, I pray that the fuel will last until I reach a gas station. Aircon and radio off, windows rolled down. The meter just blinked away. I prayed for the saints to help me, and I reasoned with God that He has to help me, if not I wouldn't be able to concentrate as I pray for my dead loved ones. When I walked back from the cemetery towards my car in the semi-darkness, I turned on my engine to find my fuel meter with two bars! Divine intervention? I would like to think so.
