Still Indulging.

Monday, January 02, 2006

What makes me think about graveyards?

Here in Iceland it is custom to go to the graveyard around christmas. I have gone there with my husband for many years, in the old days we took the children with us, now we go alone, grandfather and grandmother. We go to the old churchyard, full of low growing trees and old gravestones. There are his father and his mother who died when he was a little boy. Quite near there are also the graves of his grandparents. We put candles on the graves and christmas tree branches as many others do and walk through burning memories of all the visiting people. Life is hushed there.
My husband´s father married again after the death of his wife and was buried beside his first wife. My husbands halfsister was worried where her mother would rest, feeling her rightful place had been taken away. Yes, how is it in modern families? Who goes to rest beside whom? The stepchildren, fosterchildren, halfbrothers or sisters, ex-husbands and ex-wifes?
I did not grow up with this custom as there was no grave to visit when I was a child after the second world war. Coming from the eastern parts of former Germany, now deep in Polland, all family graves were left behind. Those who died in action during the war maybe had a cross of remembrance, I know about my uncle’s cross in Italy, somebody´s else in France.
The first graves I remember and took part in saying farewell to their ashes were my grandparent´s, three of them and three aunts in two years. Those graves were in Germany. Nearly a whole generation gone. As only the ashes remained the spot was tiny. But it was a beautiful place, with much of heather and big trees, part of the woodlands behind it really. In the old days when I still went to Germany I visited there with a bunch of roses. Now those graves are gone, the family decided to let them go as nobody lives in Germany any longer. I don´t know what became of their ashes.
Walking through the graveyard here at christmas I wondered where the souls had gone to. The place felt so empty, just the memories of the visitors hovering between the tiny trees.
I stood beside my dear grandmother when she died, a long time ago, around 40 years. Of course I was crying, loudly, as I remember. But since than I am not afraid of the act of dying in itself. She let go of a breath and you could hear it was the last one, maybe relief. Since than I know that every living thing lives between two breathes: the first one in, after birth, the last one out. What we put in between them, is it our choice? Is it fate?

7 indulge with me:

  • At 2:37 PM, Blogger Doug The Una said…

    It's amazing how much depth there is between the ground and six feet under a graveyard. A shallower perspective might be that whether choice or a fate, what happens between the first breath in and the last one out is the substance of a blog by Monika's mom. Sorry, I'm still too excited to act right.

     
  • At 3:54 PM, Blogger Minka said…

    Doug, what a good dog! *pad*
    Mom, I know the feeling. When one of my old ones at work lets finally go, there seems the sense of relief in the air. The face is always peaceful adn the last breath out a long and balanced one. It does not seem scary to me anymore...

     
  • At 9:57 PM, Blogger Miz BoheMia said…

    I am well acquainted with death. It does not scare me. The manner in which one dies... perhaps...

    My true fear...

    I think the thought of having to be away from my husband and kids indefinitely would scare me more than death itself...

     
  • At 10:46 PM, Blogger dddragon said…

    Our church has a "Day of the Dead" celebration, after the Mexican tradition. An altar with lots of flowers and symbols of death (skulls, etc.) is constructed. Then people place on this alter a photo or object that reminds them of someone who has died.

     
  • At 12:24 AM, Blogger TLP said…

    I've lost so many people now. I couldn't possibly be afraid to be dead.

    I took care of my sister Doris as she was dying, slowly, of cancer. I was holding her hand when she died. Where is she now? I have her ashes still, after two years. Doris scattered our mother's ashes all over the world. I haven't been able to let go of Doris' yet.

    Lovely, thoughtful post.

     
  • At 3:36 PM, Blogger Biene said…

    tan, my heart reaches out to you. It must have been terrifying. I don´t know what else to say. I´ve got a sister I love dearly.

     
  • At 1:59 AM, Blogger Sar said…

    ...the first one in, after birth, the last one out. What we put in between them, is it our choice? Is it fate? that's very profound. I'm a firm believer that everything happens for a reason, or what's meant to be is meant to be. But I also believe in freewill, though I can't explain how they can coexist.

    With respect, I'm not at all comfortable with the idea of graves and graveyards. My thinking is that land should be utilized by the living and the dead should be honored through photos and memories rather than a tombstone.

     

Post a Comment

<< Home