Graveyards. I have a thing about graveyards. Odd I know. I grew up in a morgue. My father was the undertaker. Obviously, a corpse doesn’t bother me. I used to comb the hair of the ladies just before my father closed the coffins. We even played hide and seek in the morgue and thought nothing of laying on the shelf next to a corpse, holding a finger in the door of the fridge to prevent it from closing. If you ever wondered, now you know what is wrong with me.
To come back to the graveyards. As a child, I remember my parents driving into a little town and immediately head for the graveyard. We walked among the graves reading the epitaphs and discussing the design of the tombstones. To this day, I still do it. My children freaked out at first, now they join me. Small little family graveyards on a desolated piece of land are my favourite. It fascinates me to see one generation after the other buried in the same graveyard. I wish I had a family graveyard. It just seems right.
The epitaphs always spark my curiosity. Normally they say very little really.
1960/01/01 – 1990/12/31
Rest in Peace
I always wonder if the family left behind really meant that rest in peace bit. Or was it just too expensive to engrave something like “May your soul wonder the ends of the earth and may you never find rest, you evil thing”. You never know hey.
But what will the little line between the two dates on my tomb stone one day represent? What will remain in the hearts of the people about me long after I had gone? Will my children remember me patiently driving mom’s taxi, or will they remember me yelling because I am late? Will they remember the meals I cooked with love or will they remember me moping and moaning in the kitchen each night? I can come up with a whole list of similar questions. Point is – what will people remember me for?
What in my day to day dealing with people really has eternity value?
What will another freak with a thing for graveyards, read on my epitaph one day?