Ok, before you conjure up some preconceived notion about me traipsing through cemeteries for kicks, let me set the record straight. This is not something that I do - ever. However, I will confess that those old stones in those very old graveyards beckon to me when driving by. I always think I'd like to stop by sometime and read the ancient stones. They seem to call the old soul and farm girl in me to wonder about what life was like back then in the 1800's when someone's father or baby went to heaven. As a mother, I too, can only say "awww"and mourn for that family who has lost a little child all those years ago. That sacred spot is marked by a tiny lamb or angel marker bearing the words "beloved daughter" or "baby boy" and inscribed with the years, and days this child filled the family with joy.
We recently took a little field trip to a cemetery not too far from home to find the graves of some of caveman's relatives. My 16 year old caveson had to do a genealogy project a few years back and has continued to be interested in our family tree. Caveson was able to find the plot numbers from the cemetery website so we had no trouble tracking down these great great great great - relatives.
It put me in sort of a melancholy mood taking this walk through the stones. It was a cold, gray day, which probably added to the mood.
We felt bad for people who's stones were crumbling or sinking. Where are their relatives? Do they still have living relatives in the area? It's sad to think they are all alone there.
We are going to make the trip again this summer - when the weather is warm and sunny. A day that would support a lighter mood. And we'll visit those relatives again - and maybe bring some flowers to brighten their resting place. We'll admire the ornate stones, wonder about those now unreadable, and imagine what it was like for those both born and getting their wings in the 1800's.