Kearney is the best home I never had – because it holds my people…until the grief and sadness it held overshadowed the love.
Even to this day, if you were to ask me, I’d tell you I bleed Scarlet and Cream {GBR!} and am a Husker through and through. Here’s the thing though, I did not attend the University of Nebraska at Lincoln {or any of the Nebraska schools, for that matter} – nor have I ever held a physical address in the state of Nebraska…
Growing up – from the age of about 8 to 18 – it felt like every other weekend we made the (then) 6.5 hour drive from Kansas City to Kearney, Nebraska. You see, both my mother and father’s formative years were spent in Kearney and my maternal family did a lot to help build it into the place it is today.
My grandfather, Gunnar Mattson, an entrepreneur and prominent businessman founded Kearney Goodfellows in the 1940s (similar to Toys for Tots) and many of his 12 brothers and sisters were also prominent Nebraskans.
Over the years, some of the siblings left Nebraska – but many never left or returned to their roots later in life. Even my aunt and uncle, who moved to Alaska in the 1970s, would return to Kearney every summer and football season until the day they died.
With 13 siblings, 58 cousins, and countless offspring the Mattsons ‘rolled deep’ in the small town.
Personally, I bought my first cassette tape at the Walmart in the Kearney mall. I had my first sleepover with my second cousin in Kearney. I used my first car phone. I walked to the store for the first time alone. I was even in my first tornado in Kearney (ironically I was at the same mall with the same second cousin and we were sent to the bedding department of the same Walmart for safety….)
Kearney, Nebraska was such a part of my childhood that I made my parents make that drive north for my senior year of high school to have my pictures taken there.
However, once my aunt and uncle were tragically killed in 2009, I haven’t been able to bring myself to travel back…until this last weekend – for a Mattson Family Reunion – 17 years later.
As you can imagine, a lot had changed in the 17 years I’d been gone. Bob’s Super Store was now office space, the Taco John’s my father worked at as a teen had burned down (but the sign still stands proudly over the empty lot). The Walmart had moved out of the mall down the street to a larger space, but that didn’t stop the emotions and memories from flooding back.
Amid my walk down memory lane, I did something I had never done before. I went to Kearney Cemetery alone and spent time with my family. I’d intended to ‘just’ go and pay my respects but the more I thought about it the more that didn’t seem enough. I considered bringing traditional flowers for a hot second – but you know my take on flowers is that they’re just a beautiful reminder that everything living dies…and no matter what type of flower I bought Grandpa Gunnar would have called them posies.
I decided to do something more ‘me’ (because of course!) It just felt right and it allowed me to be there doing something…
I grabbed my supplies and made my way to the cemetery.
The mood was exactly what I expected for spending the afternoon in a cemetery: overcast and muggy with a treacherously thick fog….the type of wet fog that hung in the air like a winter blanket…but as yucky as it felt to be out in that weather it also somehow felt so fitting. And I set to work cleaning the headstones of my grandfather, grandmother, Uncle Robbie, Aunt Jane, and Uncle Kent.
I scraped off the dirt and grass clippings, scrubbed out the mud from the grooves, washed them all the best I could, then got to decorating a little bit too 😉
I mean, they were all in very good condition – I just wanted to give them a little extra love…While I was cleaning each marker we talked, individually. I told each of them about my favorite memory (or story) of them. I shared my love for them and what I wished I had been able to do with them.
Honestly, I never really knew my Grandma Phyllis as the wonderful woman and mother she was. By the time I was able to remember her, Alzheimer’s had already taken her mind and spirit. And my Uncle Robbie died when he was only 13 years old, long before I was born.
Much of my 3 hours of cleaning was spent hunched over on my haunches. I rarely knew if the liquid dripping from my face was tears, sweat, dew from the heavy fog, or the disgustingly muddy water that came off the stones – and in many ways it was cathartic.
One thing I didn’t take into account was the amount of time it would take for everything to dry out enough to decorate – thanks 99% humidity. So I improvised. I went back to my car to get the treats I wanted to share with my family and we partook mid-project.
Growing up, there always seemed to be a baker’s dozen of glazed Daylight Donuts at Grandpa’s house when we arrived. {12 of them fit very nicely in the box and the 13th was smashed on top} When I saw the exact store they would come from on my drive to the cemetery I KNEW I had to stop. Even though they were out of the round glazed by the time I arrived I got as close as I could – a glazed twisted long john – and we sat on the ground and talked about why a baker’s dozen is a thing while I ate it.
I don’t really have personal memories of my extended family drinking alcohol but I’ve heard many lovely stories of them ‘tying one on’ and the antics that ensued {my understanding is that Kearney Goodfellows was created as the men sat in the bar waiting for the women to finish holiday shopping}. And I was always a little disheartened that I never had the opportunity to have a drink with them {I also believe my best antics come out after a few adult beverages}.
So there I was, alone in a cemetery on Friday morning/afternoon, sweating profusely, covered head to toe in some type of water-based liquid, talking to myself while eating donuts and taking pulls from my vodka bottle…and I couldn’t have been (bittersweetly) happier!
Once I was adequately sugared and liquored, and the stones were dry-ish, I got to decorating them. Again, I didn’t want flowers and everything else I thought of either felt cheesy or not ‘Crystal-ized’ enough…
Enter sidewalk chalk.
It felt playful and whimsical enough for me – and the second it rained again (or the sprinklers went off) it would be washed away…no harm, no foul…so I got to coloring. We talked some more, I took pictures of each of them, said my goodbye, and went on my way to spend time with the rest of my family.
It wasn’t particularly easy to do (spend time in the cemetery with my family) – actually I was kind of dreading it in a “I can’t wait to see them” kind of way. But I am so very VERY glad that I got to have that time with them. For me. Even after 17 years, it was healing. I said their names….and will continue to do so until the day that I’m placed in the ground with them.
As I walked back to my car, I felt as emotionally wrung out as my clothes needed to be – yet somehow I weirdly felt lighter too.
How do you choose to honor and pay respects to your loved ones when you miss them?
