Every year in your cemetery we have The Blessing of The Graves. The Rosary is recited and the priests sprinkle holy water on the graves. The dead are remembered in prayers. Beforehand, each family tidies up the graves of their loved ones, fresh flowers are brought.
Most people come and stand at the grave of a parent or grandparent. This is sad for them but it is at least the correct order in which things should happen. Some of us have sadder stories.
In your row of graves, there are, including you, six babies, of these the other five were born sleeping. You got to see the light of day at least and we are glad that you did have those few weeks.
The lad buried beside you was twenty-one and killed in a road traffic accident.
Three graves up, there is a teenage girl who took her own life.
There is a young mother who died suddenly an hour after giving birth to her third. baby. Her other children were only toddlers at the time.
All these graves to remind us how dreadfully unfair life can be.
Time is marching on. There are new graves every year. At the moment, when I drive past the cemetery on the way to your brother's nursery, I can see your grave from the road. At night, I can see if your solar lights or candles are lit.
But the row next to yours is filling up. If four more people die, another grave will be placed behind yours and I will no longer be able to see your grave from the road. I am not looking forward to that day.
One day, your grave will be opened again and my body will be lowered down next to yours, deep in the dirt. Some people believe that that will be the end of the conscious part of me. If that's true, I will join you in oblivion and leave life to the living.
I choose to believe though that my consciousness will live on in another realm and will meet yours again. Since you left our world, you have given me little hints and signs that this is so. I choose to believe that this is so because it is the only way that this can ever be made right.
No comments:
Post a Comment