A couple of years ago, the fence came down.
I’m talking about the fence around the Phoenix Memorial Cemetery where my son, David Glasser, a Phoenix Police Officer killed in the line of duty on May 18, 2016, is buried.
The truth is that the fence never kept anybody out anyway. The sign on the cemetery said it opened at 8 am and closed the gates when the sun went down.
But the closed gates never kept anybody out. I know of many night visits by groups of Davey’s friends who jumped over the fence. There are ripped pants to prove it. You know who you are. After talking with other people visiting this area of the cemetery where several fallen officers are buried, I have discovered that jumping over the fence for a night visit was not an unusual occurrence. It happened all the time.
This doesn’t surprise me. Darkness highlights the emptiness we feel. The hole in our lives feels huge after the sun goes down.
As the night wraps around us, loneliness grows. Sometimes we’re surrounded by people but our heart longs for that one person. The one person who is missing.
And their spot on this earth is at the cemetery……
this is where we said our last goodbyes……
so a fence doesn’t stop us.
I love to see all the things people leave for Davey at his spot – pictures, painted stones and coins. I visualize his friends as they give Davey a beer or a shot and then stand by his stone, having a drink with him……remembering so many fun times.
Before it came down the fence was in bad shape, so I thought the cemetery management might be planning to put up a new one. But they haven’t. I guess they got the news about the night visits and realized replacing the fence was a waste of money.
On those difficult, lonely nights a fence didn’t stop anybody.
Miss you, Davey