Delusional Heatstroke

Today, I'm beet red and I deserve it.

Yes, I do...

I went to visit my parents down at the National Cemetery yesterday in the 100 degree heat armed with only bottled water and flowers. I was so set on my trip that I forgot to eat breakfast or lunch, dressed in a skimpy outfit, put my red hair in a pony tail, and forget the sunscreen and hat which would have protected my skin from burning.

I was just asking for trouble!

Thinking that I'd save gas, I parked my behemoth of a vehicle on the other side of the gardens believing that I could hike all the way to my parents' resting spot.

At first, it was peaceful. I reverently walked by the headstones revealing the names of so many soldiers who left this existence way too early. It made me think hard about those serving in Iraq and Afghanistan and the loved ones they've left behind. I pray that it stops soon.

Graveyards make me pray compulsively.

Then I became thirsty. But, no, I refused to drink the water that I brought for the flowers.

Can anyone say dummy?

Then, I became dizzy. But, no, I'm headstrong and decided to press forward.

Then, I became delusional.

I saw a mist and heard an internal voice ask, "who are you here to see?"

"My dad."

"What's his name, dear?" came the reply from my imagination.

"Robert Berry."

"Oh, he's right over here. I'll show you."

I found myself following the mist right to a grave marked Robert Barry. That wasn't my dad.

Staring at the headstone of a stranger, I imagined hearing my mother's musical voice. "Remember the fence. " So, I hiked for quite awhile until I reached a fence and followed a bird to a familiar spot. I looked around and again heard my mother...

"To the right." I took a few steps and then I heard "No, the other right."

Sure enough, I stood in front of my parents' headstone. I sat down and began to pick out the broken fake flowers and stems from the grass from the stuff my sister likes to bring them.

I gave them the flowers and filled the vase with some of the bottled water before my soul began to well up with guilt for breaking a big promise to them. On my mother's death bed, I promised her that I would go to school until I couldn't go any further. Before my father died he asked me to promised him that I would not marry before finishing my Ph.D. so that I could always take care of myself. I didn't heed that advice and ended up marrying someone who demanded that I break my vow.

I started to cry.

I prayed for my younger sister. When my parents died, I was a teenager. I waited until my 18th birthday before trying to adopt her out of foster care. My kind-hearted ex-husband even married me in a bid to set up a home and win custody. We failed. She ended up living with a pimp and she eventually became a prostitute. I pleaded with my remaining family members but my cries fell onto deaf ears. My heart aches for her but there is nothing that I can do for someone who doesn't believe she is loved, except pray.

Sitting in the grass, lost in my thoughts, I swore I could hear my dad sing to me. In my mind, I heard him clear as a bell. A voice from the past telling me

"the cemeteries are for the living, not the dead.

Your ancestors are with you.

We are in the eyes of the children waiting for you at home."

I lingered before I hallucinated my dad's insistent voice again....

"drink the D@m# water and get your @$$ home."

I left. I learned long ago never to argue with Dad because he was usually right.
This man was actually my step-father. When I was five years of age, I fell and injured myself fairly badly on the porch of a Paramedic. He tended to my wounds and had someone find my mother. When my mother went to his home to retrieve me, the energy shifted. From that moment forward those two were like magnets: they seemed joined at the hip. They were in love from the get-go.

My step-father had Cherokee lineage on his maternal side. He tried to pass as a white man and spoke of taunts he endured as a child due to his heritage. I find his lessons and legacy beautiful and the rituals and trinkets that he left me fill my soul with appreciation for the beauty of the Creator. I'm so thankful that he was a part of my life.

Anyhow, I digress... my point is that this sounds like something a Cherokee Paramedic would say.

Somehow I managed to make it home. I burned some some California Sweetgrass upon returning and promised myself that I was going to return to the cemetery again at Halloween. If there are ghosts at that place, that would be the day to go.

At the very least, it won't be so hot in October.

Today, I find myself wondering if I suffered heatstroke or met a few poltergeists. It was an interesting experience to say the least, especially for someone with my personality. No, one is not necessarily a nut if she imagines she's having a paranormal experience: she may be an INFJ.

.

I need to try to repeat the experience again when I'm less likely to feel the combined effects of photo sensitivity and dehydration. I'll call it qualitative research and I'm bringing a video camera, just in case. You know what will probably happen? Nothing!

To be sure, if you are going to become delusional: do it at a graveyard. It is a surreal adventure!