Have You Bought Your Grave Yet?

The errand no one wants, and the questions it leaves behind.

I went shopping for a grave this week.

Not for me — for my aging parents. It's something they've been putting off for years, and I don't blame them. But this time, they asked my sister and me to get it done. My father was supposed to come with us, but bowed out at the last minute. I think it was less about his own mortality and more about the possibility that he might have to bury my mother there someday.

I didn't think much about it until the day came. Then the anxiety hit. I even thought about canceling. But the funny thing is — once we arrived, the anxiety disappeared. It felt… right.

It was a warm, sunny day. A gentle breeze moved across the headstones and stirred the forest around us. There's a certain peace in the quiet of the dead.

Making a Deal with the Grave

We buttered up the cemetery guy to find us the best spot — in Rhode Island fashion, it always feels like you're making a deal, even for a place to bury your parents. We even asked for a break if my sister bought the plot next door.

He gave us twenty minutes about the brain bleed he'd survived four months earlier, and the long road of recovery since. Only then did he hand over the price list: the cement vault, the opening and closing fees, every cost neatly tallied.

We told him we wanted something near a tree, maybe by an old stone wall. We followed his truck down the narrow lanes, nerves creeping back. Then we stopped. He pointed it out: a rise on a slope, overlooking the trees.

Like it will matter.

Sadness hits you in a place like that. You stand there thinking about all the years, all the history with your parents. And then reality returns: this was something that had to be checked off the list. It's inevitable. And yes, they take credit cards.

The Space Between Now and Then

But walking back to the car, something shifted. Maybe it was the finality of it all, or the way the afternoon light fell across those headstones, but I found myself thinking beyond the practical details of death to the bigger questions I usually only explore in my writing.

And yet, the space between now and that inevitable end is where everything happens. That stretch of time we have left — what are we going to do with it?

I write about ghosts and the supernatural every day. But standing there, in the presence of death in the real world, I had to ask myself: do I really believe it? Do we just die and end up in the ground our families paid for — or do we move on to that realm we all wonder about?

I think we do.

I've been close to people who’ve passed. The body left behind felt like a shell, emptied of something essential. Their spirit had gone. And in that cemetery, it hit me: whatever time I have left, I want to make the most of it before heading into that supernatural world.

It was sad. It was sobering. But it also made me grateful — grateful for what we have here and now instead of wasting it all on the petty worries and annoyances that seem so important.

Because I’ve had that thought too — looking at loved ones after they’re gone and realizing every struggle, every fear, ended here. All the worry in the world couldn’t stop it. Was the anxiety worth it?

Someday, we'll all finally know the truth.

Until then, I have to believe there’s light in the darkness of the grave.

– T.C.

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What’s Next

Next Thursday’s issue will bring a book progress update — where the draft stands and how much ground is left to cover — along with more from the opening lines of The In-Between.