I understand that people mourn and grieve in different ways. Far be it from me to say that anyone’s method of coping with a profound loss of a loved one is strange or anomalous. However, I have to state for the record that if one of my loved ones dies in an automobile accident or by some other manner on a public roadway, I hereby and solemnly promise not to attach an array of stuffed animals and artificial flowers to the nearest utility pole. I will not staple up a picture of my loved one that, within a matter of days, will literally melt down the pole as it succumbs to the elements. I will not tack up a hand-lettered sign that I made with a permanent marker on a piece of construction paper that reads, “REST IN PEACE, BOO.”
(The same applies for putting one of those ads in the paper with my picture and a sappy poem about your tears building a stairway to heaven to bring me back or some other missive publically lamenting your sorrow for me - - I can not be completely sure, of course, but I am fairly certain that once I am in heaven (God willing), I will probably not be reading the classified section of the Herald & Review. Pure speculation, of course.)
I guess I just don't understand how folks find it cathartic to assemble a collection of stuffed animals and other memorabilia that will weather and mold within a few weeks and create an eyesore that will be allowed to remain for months or years because no one wants to be the one to disturb someone's public display of grief. That is just not the commemoration I would want to leave to someone I cared for deeply. Seeing dirty teddy bears, gnarled-looking dolls, and faded flowers permanently adhered to a pole would likely not assist me in the grieving process or allow me to conjure up positive images of my dearly departed. And if, God forbid, I should lose my life on a public roadway, I will come back and forever haunt every one of you who straps a janky stuffed animal or bargain-bin bouquet of plastic flowers to a pole in my honor. Oh yes, I will.
(The same applies for putting one of those ads in the paper with my picture and a sappy poem about your tears building a stairway to heaven to bring me back or some other missive publically lamenting your sorrow for me - - I can not be completely sure, of course, but I am fairly certain that once I am in heaven (God willing), I will probably not be reading the classified section of the Herald & Review. Pure speculation, of course.)
