I chose to forgo the divining rods used to talk to the ghosts and instead wander the cemetery, reading the stones. I somehow feel that reading a cemetery stone acknowledges for a moment that the person existed and continues their memory in some form in my brain. Unfortunately, the cemetery was in disarray. It was left to entropy for many years. A local group began caring for the cemetery and repairing tombstones in recent years; however, there is much repair work yet to complete.
There were more stones knocked over than standing. Others were slowly being consumed by the earth as the ground shifted over the decades. You had to watch your step so you didn’t trip over a stone hiding in the grass. A hundred years of rain had made most of the tombstones hard to read. A few headstones were nothing more than concrete slabs with a name and date crudely scratched on them. Our tour guide noted that since the cemetery was abandoned for a time, some people buried loved ones there when they couldn’t afford other options.
There were more stones knocked over than standing. Others were slowly being consumed by the earth as the ground shifted over the decades. You had to watch your step so you didn’t trip over a stone hiding in the grass. A hundred years of rain had made most of the tombstones hard to read. A few headstones were nothing more than concrete slabs with a name and date crudely scratched on them. Our tour guide noted that since the cemetery was abandoned for a time, some people buried loved ones there when they couldn’t afford other options.
I saw tiny stones that marked the resting place of children, a member of the navy, an enslaved person, and many wives. I find it interesting that so many old tombstones note that a woman was a wife to a man, but I have yet to find one that states only a man’s first name and identifies the woman he was married to. Echoes of the misogyny these women endured. One toppled slab bore the Star of David. One headstone, belonging to Celia W. Stone, was replaced with a new stone and special plaque. Only 2 graves were decorated with flowers, plastic and very faded.
It was striking that all of these people, who once walked the earth like you and me, were reduced to a few words on a rock. Largely forgotten by those of us currently walking the same ground they once did. Eventually, even their monuments are forgotten and reclaimed by the earth. It’s a stark reminder that our time here is fleeting. Even those who knew us are gone within a generation or two. Eventually, a name and a date on a stone are all left as a monument for most.
I think cemeteries are not so much for the dead but the living. While they may be where we lay the bodies of our fellow travelers to rest, they are also a constant reminder that our time on earth is short. They emphasize that we need to live while we have the opportunity. Mark Twain once said, “The fear of death follows from the fear of life. A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time.”
May we all live free from fear of life and death.
May we all live as if we will die tomorrow.
May we all leave the world better than we found it.