70 Cubic Yards of Love

When I saw the phone call that was coming in at 7:00 AM was from Arizona a couple weeks ago I knew the day we had feared had come – Melda had passed away. The last few years of her life had been difficult as she suffered from dementia as well as emphysema but the news still felt shocking and hard to take as the last Grandparent, and the Matriarch of Matt’s family, had left our company. Over the course of the next weeks all everyone could do was make travel arrangements and wait as her wish was to be buried at Arlington National Cemetery in Washington DC along side the love of her life of over 50 years. Arlington is on a tight schedule due to the number of veterans being buried there with so many WWII vets passing and she was one of those veterans.

Melda was a WAC (Women’s Army Corps), a prestigious title to own as these were the first women to actually serve as ranking Army members and not just nurses during war but that was Melda, a scrappy, firecracker of a woman I had the pleasure of knowing for far too short a time. Not only was she a world traveler, writer, lover of cats, military member and wife but she was the mother of three boys, grandmother to five, four of which were boys and great grandmother to three boys. I suppose she had no choice but to be a tough cookie and as the family came together in the house many of them literally grew up in we shared in many tears, laughs and wonderful memories of her life.

Matt and I arrived on Sunday in a convoy with his sister and her youngest who we happily met up with every couple hours on the eight hour drive. As soon as we entered the house there was homemade lasagna on the table and a flurry of introductions as well as so many familiar faces to embrace. The conversation was light and the food was fantastic after such a long trip. One of the topics of conversation was of a huge tree branch that had come down in the backyard and everyone agreed it was Melda getting a little feisty in a very strong windstorm which came through that day. We all went to bed full, nostalgic and prepared to take our own military style showers the next morning.

A hot shower was something everyone but the first lucky ones would have to wait for until later in the week but we all got ready and piled into the caravan of cars to head out to the church service. The service was a beautiful tribute as photos were shown on a large movie screen and many people shared their memories of how Melda had touched their lives. In particular Matt’s aunt read the letter Melda’s husband had written her while he too was serving in the war which contained his proposal of marriage. That was beautiful and moving and there was likely not a dry eye in the place. In true southern fashion there was a large meal immediately following at the church which was a nice break for everyone to relax and reflect before piling back to the house. Rather than sit idle, Matt and his dad decided this would be the perfect time to take the branch down.

I had a small experience with a military service from my Grandfather’s funeral which took place in Massachusetts just last year but nothing could have prepared me for the awe that is Arlington National. There is nowhere to look without seeing rows, upon rows of statuesque white headstones for the fallen veterans. There is no way to describe the scene but I truly feel it is something everyone should make a point to see at least once in their life as it is a strangely ironical reminder of just how important life and loyalty are in this world. Respects were paid to Melda through a customary gun salute, folding of the flag, gift from the Women’s Army Corp representative and of course the most difficult part of all, the playing of Taps. Sadly we were somewhat hurried away from the gravesite upon the conclusion of the service but everyone hugged and chatted for a few cold weather moments by our cars promising to keep in touch and visit whenever we could.

This is the very moment where the sadness of the week was replaced with all the crazy things the family had to deal with that became almost comical. After arriving back at the house Matt’s uncle pulled out the chainsaw to cut up the downed branch and we all just prayed that he would notice his leg was precariously close to the spinning metal teeth. Luckily he has some experience and no harm was done to anything other than the tree that would now become firewood for their stove.

By Wednesday the family had thinned out some as Matt’s cousins went back to their respective colleges and other family members headed back to their homes scattered all over from North Carolina to Romania which left just seven of us and the baby to tackle the most difficult part of the whole experience – “The Basement”. Yes, it is capitalized and in quotes for a reason. It was raining so the ladies spent their time filling up large Rubbermaid totes which the guys graciously hauled up and down the stairs, around the back yard and out to the dumpster in the driveway. When the dumpster arrived I laughed out loud noting the irony.

I will not include all the photos of The Basement before but this should give a fairly good idea of why I estimate, at the least, 350 trips up and down the stairs for the guys over the course of the three days it took to fill the three dumpsters that came and went. Melda’s long time dream was to take a baseball bat, go down there and start swinging but I think with the number of times we all heard items shattering in that cold, metal dumpster she was smiling down on all of us as if she had done it herself.

The last full day of our time there was spent loading odds and ends from The Basement as well as some unsalvageable furniture items so the ladies decided it would be a great time to leave the dudes behind and get out to a “chick flick”. We had a wonderful time and returned to a completely empty basement as well as a completed plumbing project and some new lighting installed that we all went out to purchase the night before. Nothing says I love you like spending Valentine’s Day at the Home Depot with your in-laws but it was all worth it to see the difference in the former black hole.

Our drive back on Saturday was virtually uneventful save for the brilliant shortcut we decided to take through the Holland Tunnel instead of crossing the George Washington Bridge. It had been almost four months since we had been in The City and as soon as we hit the West Side highway I was immediately reminded why I am glad we do not live there anymore but was happy to drive through on our way to somewhere else. People tend to look at me strangely when I say things like I had a lot of fun when a funeral is involved but to defend that point it truly is one of the only times an entire family comes together and talks about the past, present and future. Through laughter and tears it is easy to create stronger bonds to each other and truly prioritize the important things in life like family. I do not think Melda would have wanted it any other way.