My grandmother, the matriarch of our family, passed away in 1983. After a funeral attended by everyone in the county, she was buried in the family plot with several family members including her mother and a granddaughter. She was an avid gardener, so the family immediately planted grass and flowers over the grave site, knowing how happy that would make her soul. It immediately died. They tried again, it died. Over the next 15 years, many family members and friends tried to plant the area over the grave, but to no avail.

After the tragic death of a cousin, it was decided that she would be buried in the family plot. Shortly after the arrangements were made, my father received an urgent phone call from the cemetery caretaker. “Mr. Anderson,” the anxious caretaker began. “There’s been a terrible mistake.” While making the plans to bury my cousin, the caretaker had found that my grandmother had been buried in the wrong location. She was half in the cemetery plot of another family. The apologetic caretaker asked my father what he should do and my father calmly instructed him to move her to the proper location.

Immediately after she was moved, the grass grew—naturally—over the grave site. [emphasis added]