How Much Land Does a Man Need?

Ironically as I stood in the graveyard looking for my father's grave tonight, I recalled Leo Tolstoy's short story "How Much Land Does a Man Need?" I had often explored this story with my high schoolers and enjoyed their discoveries and discussions. The conclusion of the story is that all a man really needs is enough land in which to be buried. By the end of the story, we often felt so superior to Pahom and his greedy attempts to acquire more land. Although, tonight rather than feeling smug about a grave plot, I was desperately searching and needing to find this special piece of land that housed something so precious to me.

It seems like such a simple thing. You pick out a grave marker. You pay for it. It is made. Then it is "installed". Yet it has been almost two months and twenty one days since my dad's funeral...and still no marker. My mom has called several times. We are expecting it any day, and apparently this is normal. Being a novice at losing someone close to me, I have no idea what is normal. Yet there I stood searching for a patch of land that meant more to me than any other patch of land in the world at that moment, and not being able to find the exact spot.

Leaving work late, today, but still finding it light outside at a little before 8:00 p.m., I had such a need to be near my dad. I know that he is not actually in the grave where his body resides, but I just had a need to be close to where his hands, face, hair, arms and all the physical things I remembered about him were. I needed to tell him that I still miss him everyday and that I am ready for this to be easier. I needed to tell him that I was having a simple outpatient surgical procedure in two days and I so longed to hear him pray for me before, during and after this. I wanted to hear him say, "Lisa, you're gonna be okay! Daddy loves you!" The next best thing was to be near where we had last left him...at least where we had left the house that contained this beautiful man.

As I entered the cemetery, I parked my car where I had parked it before. I parked it where my mom and I had parked just the day after dad died when we gave the cemetery approval to dig the grave on his lot. The same place the limousine had parked when we walked to Dad's graveside. Yet it was such blur. The green funeral home tent is long gone now. The grave is not so fresh, so there I stood wandering, searching, walking from grave marker, to grave marker. I was seeing the names of so many strangers that were someone's loved one, and I was never finding the name Ronnie Harstin that I searched frantically to find. Surely, his marker was ready by now.

It's bizarre how your mind can play tricks on you in moments like this. Was it real? Was I really in this graveyard several months ago burying my dad. Good Lord, there are many days when this feels like a dream. Maybe it really was? But no...I vividly remember holding my mom's hand at this graveside, wiping my daughter's tears, listening as the ministers tried to give us a word of hope and thinking how befitting the casket was as it was called "Knight". He was my first knight in shining armor and was so brave and dear!

After a few moments of panic and desperation, I found his spot. Ironically, the marker below his is someone named Gladys. His mother was named Gladys, and she adored her boy, the baby boy of ten children. This seemed fitting to me also that Gladys would be buried near him! I did what I needed to do at this little plot of land, tonight. I found some relief and some solace after allowing my heart to break for a moment.

My dad didn't really need the grave plot, I guess; but I needed it. I needed it tonight. I needed it for him. I needed it for me. So how much land does a man need Mr. Tolstoy? He needs how much ever it takes to help someone else. He needs how much ever it takes to help another person be okay. Tonight, it was a 6 foot rectangle, but tomorrow it may be a plot of land for a school or a hospital or a playground. Nope! Mr. Tolstoy, I love you and I get your point; but this question isn't as simple for me, tonight, as you make it.