(Editor's Note: After I originally posted this, people asked me if it is creepy for me to see my name on a headstone. My answer: Not at all. The kids have seen it, too and none of them seem to be bothered by it. Regan asked where all of them (the kids) will be buried and I told them that if any of them die before me, they can have my spot next to Daddy (True). I decided to be buried next to Jeff as a convenience to our kids and to future family genealogists so that we can be easily found and visited. However, the kids also know that if I would have the good fortune to get remarried, that they are welcome to cremate me and bury half of me with Jeff and half with my new husband. After all, I think it would be kind of funny/ironic if after working as a divorce lawyer, I ended up being divided in two. )
As promised, here are pictures of Jeff's headstone. The pictures really don't to it justice. It is made of black granite that is so sleek and shiny it looks like a mirror (as you can see from the back view where Aubrey's reflection is plainly visible). Unfortunately, it is hard to see the detail on the angel, but it is very nicely done. My only complaint is a misspelling in the inscription on the back: it should have the word "men" instead of the word "man." Oh well--can't change it now. I shouldn't have told you--only the die hard Shakespeare scholars in the audience would know otherwise.
The inscription on the back are the last two lines of Shakespeare's Sonnet XVIII. Jeff read this poem out loud to me during an elaborate picnic at Holmes Lake in Lincoln, Nebraska on July 2, 1993 and then asked me to marry him. However, I included it as his epitaph not so much for its sentimental value as a love poem, but because it is descriptive of how a writer immortalizes himself through his writings. Jeff always aspired to achieve greatness as a writer--and even if he only did it through this blog, then I think his efforts are worth remembering.
I plan to get a hanging basket for his Shepherd's hook--and a new chime (he's on his third one now--they don't last long for some reason . . .). I can even plant flowers around it, so maybe I'll use the same ones we use to fill all the flower boxes on our windows at home.
I can't believe I'm 36 years old and writing about this. It makes me sad. I feel like crying.