Thoughts from a Cemetery
I’m all alone in a cemetery and it’s starting to rain. I find that comforting. It should be raining on the day of a funeral. Nobody wakes up one morning and says “The sun is shining. Today will be a beautiful day for a funeral!” No, it’s only appropriate that the sky should be weeping too.
I’ve been coming to this small town my entire life to visit relatives. Sadly, most of them are gathered together in one place now. Today’s funeral was at the new cemetery, as they all are now. The old one is full. The new cemetery is one of those modern ones where the ground is flat and all the markers have to be uniform so that they can mow right over you. The flowers are all plastic. I absolutely despise it, and have threatened to return and haunt anyone who puts me there after I’m gone.
But I am at the old cemetery now. It is hauntingly beautiful in its way. There are lovely granite markers, marble obelisks, wrought iron fences. Here, even in death you can tell who had money and who didn’t. The large markers bear the names of the towns most prominent residents. I still recognize some of them. The truly wealthy even have their own family crypt.
There are no rules here at the old cemetery. You can place whatever kind of markers or statues you want. I once saw a grave entirely covered in pansies. Maroon ones, with gold ones forming a cross down the middle. Some woman spent a lot of time and effort on that, to show her love for the person underneath. I hauled two of those concrete urns that I bought at Home Depot up here so that I would have a place to put flowers.
I’m here to visit my grandparents and great-grandparents. They’re over in the “new section.” The last one was buried in the 50’s but still, that’s considered “new” in this place. I feel guilty because I haven’t been here for several years, and their flowers are all gone. But as I drive around, I notice that very few of the residents have any flowers. Most of them have been gone for so long that everyone who ever knew them are themselves resting somewhere. Probably over at that new cemetery.
Our family plot is quite unusual. There’s a large granite stone marked “Williams” on one side and “Lackey” on the other. Most married couples are buried side by side, with the wife on the right “like they stood up together in marriage” as the funeral director explained it to me. My grandparents aren’t buried side by side, but head to foot. She’s over on the Lackey side next to her parents and he’s over on the Williams side with his parents. And of course everyone is buried facing east so that when they rise up from the grave they’ll be facing towards the sun. My grandmother died in 1927 in childbirth. She was only 20 years old. That wasn’t uncommon back then. Apparently, they purchased this plot after her death. Her parents died soon afterwards, no doubt of grief at the death of their only daughter. There’s an empty spot left that was supposed to be for my father. They thought they’d be needing that extra grave, but he lived to be 61 and is buried over at the new cemetery with my mother.
After my father died, the funeral director asked my mother if she wanted separate markers, or one of those joint markers for a husband/wife combo. I told her it was her decision, but personally I didn’t want to be staring at my own name on a tombstone for the rest of my life. Now, I do find comfort in knowing that they saved a place for me here.
The sign on the gate says the cemetery closes at dusk. I’m leaving because there’s no way in hell I want to be caught here after dark. As beautiful as it is, it also looks like the set of a horror movie. So, I leave the flowers and go. Hopefully, I’ll visit again. Maybe with some nicer flowers, and when I have more time to look around.
I am sorry for your loss. My own father died just over a month ago. I will not be able to go to his internment – he chose to be cremated, and his remains will be at a family plot in Michigan, more than 1000 miles from where I live. (We are doing a memorial service at Thanksgiving, when everyone can gather). (They also have a place saved for my mother in that family plot, even though it’s my dad’s family….and I hope it is a good many years before she joins him there)
I don’t know what I will do about myself but I have to consider that. I have no spouse and no kids so there will be no one to need to visit me. I admit I’ve contemplated donating my body to science, if they will take it. I considered the Body Farm until a colleague told me what it was like and….yeah….no.
I have visited a number of old cemeteries – a friend of mine is interested in both genealogy and in just the design of the old markers, and yes, it is more distinctive and more….personal, somehow.
And I’ve seen interesting things in cemeteries – teddy bears, and balloons, and unusual flower arrangements but as you noted: “Some woman spent a lot of time and effort on that, to show her love for the person underneath,” I would never laugh at or deride a display that isn’t how *I* would do it, because of that very fact.Report
I live across the road from one of those huge modern cemeteries with the flat, easy-to-mow-over stones, but my family back home are buried in an older cemetery like you describe. We have a monument with the family name, and then my grandparents, great grandparents and a great aunt are buried there. My dad will be as well- not sure about my mom. There were 8 spaces total, but somehow they buried a person in the wrong spot and now there is only room for one more instead of two.
Anyway, the stones in this cemetery are works of art. There is one that is five feet tall and sculpted as a tree trunk. There was a spot where people would leave the old plastic flowers and wreaths when they brought new ones, and my grandma and I use to get them and put them on graves that had not been attended to in years.
Lovely writing, thank you.Report
the tree trunk ones – fun fact – were often provided by Woodmen of the World, especially in cases in the past where the family couldn’t afford one. A bit of history there.
My friend the cemetery enthusiast (she is not a Goth, I promise you) likes to go around and find all the ones she can that have the big weeping-angel statues in them, they are impressive.Report
Now that you mention it I believe this one does mention the Woodmen!Report
DON’T BLINK!!Report
Yeah, my friend is a big Dr. Who fan so that might be part of the impetus behind going to see the weeping angels…Report
When my Dad passed, or maybe even before idk, they put up a husband-wife headstone. Thing is they assumed too much when they did so. My Mom’s name is engraved on it with “Born May 9, 1918 – Died [blank] 19[bb].
She’s still alive, celebrated her 101st birthday this year. So making that date right is… well, I’m not sure how you fix that. I’ve seen markers where they tried to fill it in with something — epoxy, idk — but it really looks like crap.
As for myself, the family plot, or at least the general area where my people are buried, is in the church cemetery. A church I haven’t stepped into in probably 30 years. Doesn’t seem right. Cremation I guess.Report
Weird that they assumed she wouldn’t make it to 82. I get that that was slightly above average back then, but not such an outlier that you’d want to literally set it in stone.Report
Your parents’ gravestone has the Y2K bug! Must be made out of cobolt ore.Report
My wife and I finally agreed on historic Cave Hill cemetery, here in Louisville. We’ll be in there with my great, great-great and great-great-great grandparents. We’ll also be neighbors with George Rogers Clark, founder of our fair city, Muhammed Ali and Colonel Sanders. Old cemeteries are awesome.
https://www.cavehillcemetery.com/Report
What a great place for your eternal rest. I love Cave Hill it is my favorite cemetary….yes I make my poor husband stop at all sorts of random old cemetaries…did have a goth phase so maybe that’s where the fascination comes from idkReport
I have the same problem. My wife has been forced to march through a lot of cemeteries in new England.Report
Cutting-edge (at the time) medical science is the only reason I lived past the first couple months of my birth, so I feel morally obligated to donate my body to science in turn when I die. I’m really hoping to be one of those corpses that rips a real nasty fart as it’s being examined by a future med student in some anatomy class.Report