Cemetery Serendipity

A few months ago, on a cold day in mid-November, I decided to visit the grave of my friend Sara, who died in a car accident when we were both in high school. I've been to her grave a number of times over the years, but hadn't been in quite a while. It was a really chilly day, the wind piercing. It was not a day for staying outdoors long. I found her grave marker, and replaced the bouquet of frayed, faded lavender silk roses with the seasonal autumn arrangement I'd brought with me. Sara's parents now live several hours away from where she is buried, and I knew they weren't able to replace the flowers very often. I stood there silently for a few minutes, remembering my friend, and then the cold wind compelled me to cut my reverie short.

As I walked back to my car, I heard a man's voice calling, at a bit of a distance, "Hey!" "Hey!" And I looked over and saw what appeared to be an elderly man slowly walking towards me, waving his arm, beckoning me over. At first I wasn't sure what to think (Is this a dangerous situation? Is he safe to talk to?). But as he got closer, I could see he was quite old, and then when he was close enough to talk, he said, "I'm in trouble. I need help." He had locked his keys, with his little dog, in his truck, he said. I told him I had a cell phone, and asked him if he wanted to call someone. But he said there wasn't anyone at his house; he lived alone.

He was holding a large pair of pliers, which I thought was odd and it made me a little nervous, but then I remembered having passed him and his truck on my way into the cemetery. He must have had the pliers to fix something on a grave, I figured. Also, he was so old, and he kept saying, "Lord have mercy. Lord have mercy." He really didn't seem like a threat, and his panic seemed genuine, so I just told him I'd give him a ride if he needed one. He said, "I'll pay you for your help." And of course I was like, "Don't worry about it. Just come on, get in." And I cleared a space for him in my passenger seat.

He told me his name was Pendley, and I wasn't sure if Pendley was his first name or last. But we shook hands, and I told him my name. He got in, and I started driving. He said his little dog had locked the truck door by putting his paws up on the windowsill when he was standing up to look out the window. I asked him what kind of dog he had, and he said a pug. He said he didn't know what he would have done if I hadn't been there -- that it was such a cold day, and too far to walk.

Mr. Pendley (his last name, as it turned out) ended up living just past the new high school, out past the Dairy Queen, and we talked on the way there. He said he had been at his wife's grave, and that they had been married for 63 years. I said that was awesome, and asked him when she passed away. He said, "On the 12th of May, it'll be five years." He said, "I was with her when she was just a little teenager." I asked him what the secret was of their 63 year marriage, and he said, "Well, marriage is not always easy. You've got your ups and your downs. But you just gotta work it out and work through it."

It was a fairly unromantic answer. But they "worked through it," God knows how many times, and there he had been, at her grave on a Tuesday afternoon, not on a holiday, four years after she was gone -- and knowing to the day when it would be five years.

He said he was 87 years old, that God had kept him alive this far for some reason. He said he prayed every day that God would make him a blessing to somebody, "And here you are, blessing me," he told me. And I told him I sometimes pray that prayer too, and God takes care of us. And he said, "Yup. He sure does. He works it out."

We got to his home, a modest but sound-looking old house, where he said they lived for forty years, and he got out of my car to go inside and get the spare key to his car. He got back in after he found it, and we headed back to the cemetery. He wanted to give me some money for giving him a ride, and he gave me a ten dollar bill. I told him I didn't want it, that I didn't do it for the money, and he said, "I know you didn't." But I could tell he wanted to give it to me. I didn't want to insult his pride or whatever, so I took it and told him I'd give it to somebody who might need it more than me. And he said that would be fine. And he said he'd pray for me. And I said that would be great. And I really believed he would.

He was just such a sweet-spirited man, with kind of watery big blue eyes, a baseball cap on, simple faded jeans and a flannel shirt and olive green jacket. No frills, just basic. In a bit of a non sequitur, he told me he and his wife used to ride motorcycles up through the mountains, to Gatlinburg. I think he just kind of enjoyed telling somebody about his wife and his memories.

When we got back to the cemetery, he said he wanted me to meet his little dog, and of course I said I wanted to. So he unlocked his truck, and there was his pug, Bobo, the little troublemaker, wearing a red Georgia Bulldogs doggie sweater. Very cute. Wagging tail. Very excited to see Mr. Pendley. And Mr. Pendley showed me his wife's grave, next to the truck, and Mr. Pendley's name, birth year, and that significant dash and blank space were on the other side of the dual headstone, I mentally observed. I didn't quite know what to say, but I cleared my throat and said she must have been a lovely lady, and he said, "She was a sweet lady. She was a real sweet lady."

And that's how it went. Mr. Pendley told me thanks again, and I told him I was happy to help. And he said "Let me know if I can do something for you." And I said, "Just pray for me." And he said, "I will." And totally naturally, he gave me a hug and said, "I love you," and even though we just met, I knew he meant it, and so did I when I said, "I love you, too," before I walked back to my car, and drove away.