Plot

 Herself speaks.

In the course of making arrangements for my lovely father-in-law, several discussions were had among the immediate family about cemetery plots. It was decided that several plots should be purchased, so that a section could be reserved for my in-laws, Beloved Husband, his siblings. And me, of course, to be interred with Beloved Husband in time. It was the most sensible thing to do.. 

Knowing that there's a plot there with my name on it is... somehow very disturbing to me. 

It's not because I'm afraid of imminent death (we go when we go, no way to tell when one's number is up). It's more because the first thing that springs to mind for me, is being trapped in a box under the barren desert for all eternity. 

Yikes.

This Desert is my adopted home. I have been here for twenty-five years now. I have learned to see the beauty in the unique plants; to appreciate the resilience and variety of the Desert's creatures; to tolerate the dry and the dust and the harsh sun, knowing that there are moments of rain and silence and beauty. It is a unique place. And this place is very much part of Beloved Husband, born and raised here, living and ultimately, someday, to die here. It's only natural that he should become part of it by being buried here. But is the Desert truly a part of me? Or has it merely tolerated my presence, knowing that I am from Elsewhere? 

Do I really belong here? 

If not here, though -- where? 

I don't belong in New England (where I was born and raised) any longer -- I have been here in the Desert too long for that. 

No other place calls to me. 

Is it too late to search for belonging now? Where would I even look? 

Is it really a question of where? Or is it a question of something else?

What is Home? 

Let us find Home. With Home, we will find Rest.