Something engraved

Ever since I was a kid, I've liked graveyards.  Invariably, whenever people find this out about me the first thing they say is "WHY?", usually accompanied by a look of confusion on their face and incredulity in their voice. Now, of course this reaction makes sense. After all, the first thing most people would think of with a place where one buries the dead is...death.   Ooooh, isn't that an uneasy topic! Psychological studies have shown that death the #2 biggest common fear for people, only beaten by a fear of public speaking. My statement about liking graveyards has the side effect of plunging people into unintended mental proximity to one of the scariest things in life! *insert evil cackles here* And, if it's not death that gets them rattled, then it's ... ghosts.  You know, that thing that people say they don't really believe in, but actually kind of do in a spirituality-adjacent-but-creepy way.

Occasionally, however, following my declaration of graveyard love, the response I get back surprises me.  "I get it!" or "me too!"  There's something about these kind of responses that conjures a warm sense of fuzziness all the way from my heart to my toes. 

Look at this graveyard in the spring!

The people who get it usually understand this simple fact: graveyards are peaceful. There is the separation that occurs within a graveyard from the hubbub of society, and simultaneously with this separation comes a return to nature.  There is stone, grass, trees and quiet, calm. If this was the one redeeming quality of graveyards they would still be very lovable, but to borrow the words of the world's most infamous infomercials: wait, there's more! 

Beyond the space to think and breath within a busy life, there is also an incredible sacred dimension to graveyards.  In my graveyard wanderings I've found myself drawn into the story of life and death - of the circle of life.  I've become aware that I am part of that circle, part of the loop of common humanity.  I am not alone in my humanness.  The people who are buried around me are people who lived, laughed, loved, suffered, cried, felt trauma, failed, succeeded.... they weren't perfect but they did come before me and they paved the way for me to be here, now as I am.  Drawn into this story I feel an incredible sense of connectedness that transcends time even while including time. 

In memory of that time I sat on the kindness bench

Part of me is very aware at how long this preamble has been, but I felt like it was necessary to provide some context before I start posting pictures of random tombstones on my blog.  You see, this morning I decided to go for a walk and ended up in the nearby graveyard.  Once there I started with an activity I would recommend people try: reading tombstones.  And by "reading" I don't mean just look at the words - rather, take in their meaning, figure out what story they are telling.

 For example, take this gravestone family story:

From what I can piece together, we have John and Elizabeth, who were married (she was three years older than he was) and their daughter Christina who lived to a ripe old age of 92. It's hard to place Frederick - there's no age - but one would assume there is at least a 20 year age gap between him and Christina, judging by the dates of death and from what we know about normal life expectancy. So, I'm guessing Frederick is a grandson to John & Elizabeth, perhaps Christina's son??  If that is true though, why is he the one who gets to go on the tombstone over any other grandchild? Were there no other grandchildren?  The fact that Christina has her maiden name and no listed husband makes me wonder more - did she have this child out of wedlock?  Where is the father?  Was she a single mother and Frederick was her only child?  Are you not as fascinated as I am that we have stumbled into this mystery with only names, ages and dates?!

But I'm not done yet, there's more to the story this tombstone tells.  There's another name on the list, Alida, and she stands out because of the footnote that came only moments before.  She is not called the "wife of" Frederick, but he is called her husband.  If you study enough gravestones you'll realize how rare this is.  Women are often treated like belonging to the man rather than the other way around.  There is a subtle sense of hierarchy in this presentation, that when repeated indefinitely across hundreds or thousands of tombstones diminishes the value of women in general.  And yet here, I immediately felt the sense of respect in these words towards this woman who even though she is not related by blood to this lineage seems to be grated this place of esteem. He was her husband too, she was not just his wife.  

~

On my way home I found myself reflecting on some of the most common engravings to be seen on gravestones: "in loving memory", "loving wife", "loving husband", "I am the resurrection and the life" .... one of these things is not like the others.  There is so much that can be said in a few a words that adds context to the whole story. And yet, some phrases are used so often they have almost lost their meaning, they're basically platitudes.  So, I was wondering, what it might be like if we started including in these few words a story about the person that was a little less conventional?  Something like:

    "kicked ass in life"
    "epic level friend"
    "beloved by her cats and husband"   or
    "Canadian to the core"  

What do you think?  What story would you want people to read about you, if a random stranger was seeking your story on a gravestone and you only had a few words to tell it in?