Who the Hell is James A Perry?

On Sunday, June 19th after I finished my last blog entry, I got in the car with my box of tissues and headed towards the cemetery to visit my father. I wish I had better memories of my father- I mean I do, but the more recent ones which I can’t get out of my head were of him sick and frail. He certainly wasn’t the man that everyone knew towards the end. He was better in some respects- he started to realize what was truly important in life. He started to appreciate his family and people and thanked them for all that they did for him. For the first time in probably my entire life, I heard him begin to tell people he loved them and was proud of them, but all that came too late. His death humbled him and made him more likeable, but his spirit and his liveliness were gone well before his humility took over. It is just a shame that he waited so long, a shame that so many people wait until it is too late to realize what they should have been living for all their years.


I wish I had my father back for just one day or one week. Hell- who am I kidding? I wish I had him back for good or at least for the rest of what his life expectancy should have been. Unfortunately that can never be the case and so on Sunday; I drove to the cemetery thinking back on his final days. I drove to the cemetery wondering where my life was headed. I drove to the cemetery on a magnificent day to sit on a bench and talk to a granite wall instead of visiting my father and doing barbeques and all the other normal father’s day things that most of the country was doing on that day. And I drove to the cemetery with tears streaming from my face, grabbing my Kleenex to wipe my eyes at every traffic light.


First I drove past my old place of employment and not too far down the road, I drove past my fathers last place of employment. The traffic was bad that day and as I was slowly passing by the entrance to where he worked, I remember a year and a half ago turning into the parking lot of his job with the hearse in front and my family and I in the limo that followed. Immediately behind us were the other 10, maybe 15 or so cars that followed in the funeral procession. My father loved his job. Some days I think he loved it more than his own family and he always bragged about how they loved him there. I guess he was right by the outpouring of people that came for his funeral. Some he had worked with or mentored over the years drove through the night from other states to pay their respects. As one last goodbye, we asked his employer if we could drive the funeral procession through the parking lot of his job since it was on the way to the cemetery and they allowed us to do so. He had worked for a newspaper and as we drove through the parking lot, people came out to watch- some stood on the sidewalk, others you could see watching from the various windows that surrounded the building. Every time I pass by his work, I think about how we drove through the parking lot at his funeral. I was thinking that on Sunday as I got stuck in slow moving traffic as I passed the building yet again.


I continued on towards the cemetery and at first I thought I was just imagining things, but it appears as if the traffic was caused by the cemeteries that lined that road. I remember the day of my father’s funeral. The road was similarly packed and as there were a few cemeteries and several different sections of the cemetery on various sides of the road. I recall how half my father’s funeral procession turned left and the other half turned right following the wrong funeral. We lost about 8-10 cars along the way to his final resting place. And as these thought flashed back into my mind, I was not imagining things. The traffic really was caused by the cemeteries. I could not believe what I was seeing but there was actually a line of traffic waiting to turn into the cemetery. As I finally approached the entrance, emotions consumed me. I had already gone through several tissues, but I was in awe at how many people were at the cemetery to visit a loved one. The sadness of knowing that I was not the only one feeling this way and consumed with sadness made me even more upset. There was a whole world of hurt and broken hearted people out there. There was a whole world of people without a father on father’s day out there.


It was absolute madness at the cemetery that day, but as I made my way around the crowds and cars parked just about everywhere, I finally arrived at my destination. I got out of the cars and clenched my box of Kleenex under my arm as I walked towards the section where my father was. It was a beautiful sunny day on Sunday. I came home with sunburn from the little bit of time I was sitting there, yet it might as well have been raining because I was feeling so blue.

I don’t know if he hears me, I don’t know if I am the only one that does this, but I look around to see if anyone is there to overhear me and then I say, “Hi! I came to visit you” and I begin talking. I tell my father what is going on in my life and I tell him about family stuff. I share with him how I am worried about mommy, how his sister is pure evil and I tried to make nice with her. I tell him about his granddaughter that is on the way. I tell him how I am getting married and while he appeared to never approve of anyone, I wish he could have met my soon to be husband. I tell my father how he is so good to me unlike that other piece of crap I married the first time. I go on and on. Sometimes I tell him how I miss him and how it was not supposed to be this way. I assume he is looking down upon me and the rest of the family and keeping us safe and leading us to good things in our life, but I tell him what is going on just in case. All the while I am going through tissue after tissue. And then all the sudden I look up and stop dead in my tracks.


“WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?” “OH, NO, You are not supposed to be there?” “Where did you come from?” “You were not there last time I came!” “No, No, No- that is all wrong- You are not supposed to be there.” And all the sudden my tears of sadness turn to confusion and shock. The shock quickly turned to anger. Trying to make sense of it all, I began counting and trying to recall back to a year and half ago.

I’m not sure if you recall, but when we were deciding which section to bury my father in, we moved him a few times before all was said and done thinking other family members wanted to buy a slot on the wall of the mausoleum that my father is buried in. They held the section for us for 30 days and then payments needed to be made. At the time I wanted so badly to be buried by my father and as sick as it sounds, my great grandparents are buried a few sections over and I just loved visiting them there and for years said that when I die, I wanted to go in a wall like grandma and grandpa. Well the spots are expensive but they give you 9 years of interest free payments to pay them off. If unused, you can sell them back at a later point in time and get your money back. My mother at the time reserved enough for the entire family and then some grandchildren she did not have at the time. She used to joke that she bought almost an entire wall at Pinelawn.


I contemplated the decision at the time, but I had no job. I was unemployed and just couldn’t see spending half a car payment on a mausoleum and so I told my mother with tears in my eyes that I couldn’t afford it at the time. Little by little my sister changed her mind as did my brother but my mother said that it is what my father would have wanted and so she decided to pay for them. At the time I had to talk her out of paying for the entire thing in full with my father’s insurance money, but she has supposedly been paying them off little by little each month ever since. I know that my mother bought the one to the side of my father for herself. I was to get the two below that, another family member the two beside mine and then I think there was one double crypt to the right of that. As a bonus and I am not sure why, I believe she also was making payments on the two immediately on top of my father. I could be wrong, but I recall asking at the time why she needed so many and tried to tell her to not take on that expense…..but she insisted.


Well I am sitting there on Sunday crying, going through my tissues and talking to my father when all the sudden it hits me…… “Who the hell is that?” In the crypt above my father, there is a man- James A Perry 1930-2011 who apparently is taking up residence in a crypt that I am almost positive belongs to someone in my family. “No, No, No…You are not supposed to be there?” “ I’m sorry that you can’t rest in peace, but you need to be moved- you are not supposed to be there.”

I tried my best to ignore it, but it has been eating on my mind for days and it certainly was that day. I was in shock and confused. I was hoping I had my facts wrong and I went from crying to problem solving mode. I was looking around. People were pouring into the cemetery to visit loved ones. This guy was not there two months ago- surely he must have family that is coming to see him. Maybe I should hang out a while and wait and then see if the family bought any of the surrounding plots. Maybe I should go into the office across the street and scream at someone. It was a Sunday- is there anyone even in the office on a Sunday, I thought to myself. I need to call my mother- maybe she forgot to pay for it and they gave the crypt away. I then said out loud, “You see why I am worried about mom- she is a financial fuck up and Mr. Perry is proof of that.” I tried to continue my visit and continue my conversation with my dad, but every now and then I would just stop and say out loud- “I’m sorry, but this is just urking me. He is not supposed to be there. YOU are not supposed to be there.” “He needs to be moved- this is all wrong!” I would then try and continue on, but seconds later I would stop again…. “Where did you come from?” “You are a newbie- you weren’t here two months ago.” “I’m sorry for you and your family, but you will need to go- that does not belong to you.”

My mother was in Connecticut for the day with a friend. I contemplated calling her but did not want to ruin her day or worry her. I would pick up the phone, look at it and then put it down. A few minutes later, I would contemplate the call again. Now I was pissed. No more tears and sorrow for me, I was out for blood. I was going to march right into that office and raise hell but as I have had a tendency to let my temper get the best of me in the past, I decided to hold off on that one until I was certain of the facts. In the end I did call my mother because the suspense was killing me. She said, “Oh My….are you sure? I think we got the bottom ones.” Well if she wasn’t sure, I wasn’t about to go yell at people and make an ass of myself so we left off that she was going to check the crypt numbers and call me back when she got home.

In case you have not figured it out by now, my mother has a sense of urgency about nothing in her life and I mean NOTHING. When I did not hear back, I called her the next day and she still had not checked. She was out but would look into it when she had some time. She swore she was up to date on her payments but I have my suspicions on that one. Long story short- after several repeated calls to my mother, she still has no idea. She found the payment stubs but they do not have the numbers she is paying on listed. I made files for everything, but my mother being the disorganized person she is, managed to make a mess of things and now she can’t locate anything. Some days she gets home from work at 3pm but claims she has no time to call and look into it. I personally have not had a chance to get to my mom’s house and search for the file and contracts I put away and I can’t exactly look into this from work. So as of right now, I still have no idea who James A Perry is, where he came from and where he belongs, but I am almost certain he does not belong there. This saga is to be continued…..


Until I write again……