11-5-23
My sister once told me that when she went to school here, she would sometimes leave her dorm, drive to the graveyard near by, and just chill and smoke there. When she told me that, I instantly responded back on how I thought that was stupid. It sounded like a waste of time to me. Why would she leave campus to hang out in a graveyard? And smoking is unhealthy. When I questioned her on why she did this, she simply answered that she was 'feeling emo.'
Recently, when I think of that conversation I had with her, I have started judge her less for spending time in a graveyard. I still judge her a little bit for the smoking though.
I've spent the last two weekends in graveyards. I've been looking at the names of dead people, looking at when they were born and when they died. The reason I've been doing this is not because I've been 'feeling emo,' but because the churches around where I live were blessing the graves. I've been riding around with my grandparents, visiting their parents' graves.
With this, I experienced moments of sadness. Thinking of losing the ones I love became unavoidable. I have been lucky and fortunate so far to not have experienced that yet.
So fortunate.
Last week I stood and watched my cousin sit in the grass, wiping tears off her dad's grave. She lost him one year ago to a drunk driver. I feel awful for her. I'm not that close with her, and we don't talk much, so I never really say anything when moments like that come. I just stand silently and watch, occasionally fighting back tears, because that's all I can do.
But when walking with my grandparents in graveyards, the mood is completely opposite of that. I've actually kind of enjoyed it, really. They point out etched names, asking each other who they remember, sometimes getting in arguments if they don't recall the same thing. I'll ask questions, and they tell stories and laugh about the deceased. They talk about death in a carefree way. And when they look at their parents' graves, they stand and stare, calculating how old they were when they died. They're at peace with the situation, or at least seem like they are.
During our last visit, my cousin's situation was brought up. Again. Then, I almost cried. Again. Then, I got over it. I know that one day she'll be fine like my grandparents are. And I hope my siblings and other family my age stick together as life moves on. I don't think about any of this often because I never want to, but these are the thoughts that my recent experience in the resting place of the dead has ignited. I think I have grown a new appreciation for graveyards. It's a beautiful place, that harbors a wide range of conversations, emotions, and people -undead and dead.
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As we were exiting the cemetery, another grave caught my grandma's attention, and she stopped to study it for a few seconds. I thought she had another story to tell, but she turned to me lightly laughing and said, "Shit. I know more people here than I thought."
