This morning I went walking in a nearby cemetery. I think the oldest stone is from the mid-eighteen hundreds and it is one of my favourite places to walk. Apart from the wonderful,very old and big trees, it seems to me to be full of lives lived as part of the history of our city.
I was looking for a particular stone: that of my landlords' mother who had owned the condo I now live in. One of her sons had shown me a photo of the new stone they had placed there. I believe that her life is part of my life now because I live where she lived. Perhaps something of her spirit remains - I don't know. I like to think of connections like that because it seems to me we are not just here, now, but part of a stream of humanity each of whom was a unique, identifiable person. I did find her stone and discovered too, that she was my age. I liked that. I wonder if there is anything else common to our journey?
One of the other things I noticed in the cemetery that I hadn't before - or hadn't thought about before, was how people are identified on their gravestones. By far the majority of people are identified in terms of family. Women are wives, daughters; men are husbands, sons though by far the majority are spoken of in marital terms ( Harry beloved husband of... Mabel beloved wife of...). Why is that what we put on our gravestones? Is that the most important indication of who we are?
Interestingly, in the military section there are no parents or wives or husbands at all. There are roles (gunner, aircraftsman) and ranks (private, sergeant) and regiment, year killed or died (because some are in the military section who died after the wars) and age. I can remember too, that in our monastic cemeteries the identification was by year of profession, number of years in monastic life, year of death with no mention of blood family. I wonder if there are other circumstances that change this relative importance of one's family status? Clearly, the military or religious life have taken precedence over blood family... or so it seems to me.
Of course the saddest parts of any cemetery are the graves of children - always a reminder both of the uncertainty of life ( we have no guarantee of life) and also a reminder of the suffering of families when a small child dies too soon - most often suddenly. It is often clear by the dates on the stones that there was an epidemic of some sort that took a lot of folks prematurely - again, the fragility of our lives.
I recall too a small cemetery in Cornwall, England where there were so many stones of people who died young. They had died at sea in an age when boats powered by sail alone were pathetically vulnerable to the sea's whims. They too told their own story.
Anyway, it is all a reminder to me of the journey of each precious human being who has come before, whose life has touched mine. I hope that mine will do that too.
2 comments:
I, too, love to walk through cemeteries - a visible reminder of this passing life - although at the same time, I would not want to live beside one or overlook one. Why is this??? Sometimes there is almost a spiritual feel to them, perhaps the silence. I like the family identification, to me, the most important part of my life. As you know in the bible, everyone is specifically identified by family. So and so begat so and so etc. I too, like to think I'm part of those who have gone before me. When I die myself, I would like to be scattered by a pine tree in Muskoka, with no marker at all.
I have walked with Judie many times in the cemetery she is referring to. It is beautiful.
In the third paragraph, Judie refers to the information shown as perhaps not the most appropriate for the memories of those visiting the gravesite. But I think it is. What could be more important than the family left behind to grieve, and later the descendants who will wish to see the names of those closest to the departed person.
It is not like a newspaper obituary, which is there to inform all those who knew the deceased.
It is my intention to be cremated when I die. But I wonder how one can I then be remembered? Oh well, maybe no one would care anyway.
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