MILLS RIVER – During a burial, Caroline Yongue breathes in suffering.
Yongue is the spiritual director at Carolina Memorial Sanctuary, a conservation and green cemetery in Mills River, south of Asheville. She’s dedicated the last 30 years to death work and practices “tonglen,” a Buddhist meditation of “taking” in another’s pain or grief and “sending” out healing in response.
“I’ll just take a deep breath in, and I’ll stand up straighter, and I’ll just send out ease,” Yongue said.
On Nov. 9, during the burial of Alison Wisely, the sanctuary’s operations director, Yongue pulled her shoulders back, lifted her head, opened her chest and did the same – letting the immense grief Wisely’s family, friends and co-workers were experiencing flow in as pain and out as healing.
But navigating the levels of loss Wisely’s death presents, even for someone like Yongue, so steeped in death and the emotions it evokes, is difficult.
“There’s still sadness,” Yongue said. “There’s still grief – there’s still just the thoughts of their last moments.”
When Tropical Storm Helene ripped through Western North Carolina Sept. 27, the Toe River in Green Mountain, in Yancey County, spilled its banks and swept Wisely, her fiance?, Knox Petrucci, and Wisely’s two young sons, Felix and Lucas, all away.
Wisely and Petrucci had planned to wed weeks later. Instead, family and friends mixed their aquamated remains with the earth, placed them in the ground, and covered the four small mounds with flowers. They lit incense. They made earth mandalas.
On Nov. 26, the flowers were still there. Four small markers, each carved with a single name, outlined a circle where the family is buried. Nearby, a deer cut across a trail.
Despite the tragic death of Wisely and her family, the sanctuary continues to welcome the grief of others. To heal, you can’t block the pain, Yongue said.
That day Karly Michel, a sanctuary staff member, was preparing a grave site with a sanctuary steward. Chairs lined the grave, which volunteers and family members dug by hand the day before. Up a hill, a shrouded body lay strapped to a stretcher. Flowers had been placed atop it.
Sanctuary staff are trained in tonglen, too.
“You wouldn’t even really know they’re doing it,” Yongue said.
Just like you wouldn’t even really know the sanctuary was a cemetery at first glance.
Trails with names like Joe Pye, Blazing Star and Flame Azalea, loop around its meadows and woodlands. A creek cuts through its 11 acres, part of a conservation easement restricting development. It’s an ecosystem filled with life. There’s no astroturf. The sanctuary makes a traditional cemetery look more like a golf course.
For something so natural like death, the setting makes sense. It’s where a loved one can be a participant rather than an observer, Yongue said.
It’s where a family can tell stories while digging a loved one’s grave.
It’s where, by the time the grave is covered, everyone is laughing.
It’s also where fear can transform into acceptance – and where life can embrace death and healing can begin.
More:'A piece of all of us': Children lost in the storm, mourned in Hurricane Helene aftermath
More:Time marches on. Thanksgiving nears. Yet loss from Helene lingers in Green Mountain
Jacob Biba is the county watchdog reporter at the Asheville Citizen Times. Reach him at [email protected].
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