Parenting and family, served with a shot of vodka
The idea of cemeteries being creepy always gets played up around Halloween.
But I love cemeteries. We have a beautiful one adjacent to our neighborhood, and it is one of the highlights of living here.
I love to go for walks through its sprawling grounds. And in so doing, it’s impossible to ignore how much history is there. Some of the people on these headstones were born in the 1700s. I find that pretty amazing.
I read their names on the grave markers and wonder who they were, and what kind of lives they lived. Were they happy, or filled with sorrow, or both? Did they fight for our country? Have a big family? Had they ever been in love? Were they Christians, Jewish, Athiest or other? What was life like in 1820, when they were born?
I see last names that are familiar to me, and wonder if they’re related to people I’ve met here.
I see headstones of babies that were born and died on the same day, or children who died at age five or seven or 10, and that breaks my heart in a million pieces. I think of their parents and send them a virtual hug, wherever they may be.
There are gravestones of people deceased for 30 or more years, and someone who loved them dearly still regularly comes to decorate the marker with spring flowers, or October pumpkins, or Christmas wreaths. That’s beautiful to me, even though I know it must be so hard for the person who was left behind.
In some cases, whole families are buried in a huge group. Together forever.
To me, a cemetery is indeed a place of sadness, but also of peace and beauty. Life goes on, but people don’t have to be forgotten. They’re right there — a piece of history, their names etched in stone.
What’s your opinion of cemeteries?