Leave a Rock and Forget the Flowers
Cemeteries and graveyards aren’t just for the dead…
We’ve left Halloween and slid past Thanksgiving, so why am I thinking about cemeteries? A few reasons. I’ve never seen Schindler’s List, so in the true spirit of the season I happened to come across it about forty minutes in. In between moving Christmas trees around, and yes they were fake but quite tall and heavy, I watched the film. At the end Schindler has died and the Jewish people he saved placed a rock on his grave, even though Schindler was Catholic.
I looked it up, and historically, Jewish people would place a rock or stone upon the gravestone to show they had passed by to visit. Rocks last longer than flowers, and should one close to the deceased come to visit, they would see someone else had been by to remember their cherished loved one. Flowers are customarily sent to the graveside for a funeral, but they don’t last long. Having a rock placed on the grave would stand as a testimony to those who had stayed and mourned.
Excuse my maudlin humor, but while I like the idea of placing a rock or stone by a grave, it could turn out to be one big popularity contest. “How many rocks were at Jason’s grave? My Kevin had at least twenty.” Then people would have to go back monthly to see if their rock count had increased. I’m talking about the living, since the dead likely won’t care and might even laugh at the wife who leaves five rocks in an effort to prove how loved her husband was. See where this is going? Except rocks do have an aesthetic appeal that those fake, too-cheery plastic flowers don’t possess at all.
Driving by in the middle of winter and seeing bright red roses with fake baby’s breath in a cemetery is jarring. Speaking of which, in the military a person who knew the dead soldier places a penny on the stone to show they stopped by, while a dime is for those who were serving with the veteran, and a quarter is for one who was there when a soldier lost their life. Quarters are precious, since they are from a person who was with the soldier when they died in action. We need to leave the loose change on the grave, though. Bringing a metal detector to Arlington National Cemetery is likely not allowed.
As for a cemetery and a graveyard, do you know the difference? A graveyard is attached to a church, while a cemetery is land for burial with no church next door. I like the sound of a graveyard, but I don’t belong to a church that would be able to legally place me in the parking lot or near the pond. In Charleston, South Carolina I long to walk into those graveyards that have beautiful statues watching over the graves, with many words carved into the stone to remember a devoted wife and loving mother or father.
In fact it has inspired me. I’ve asked my husband to write at least fifty words on my tombstone, and if he could throw in a cheery angel on top that would be nice. If he goes first, he has asked for no stone marker, but in that case I get to have a stone for him, because I’ll be the one left behind and I’ll want to count the rocks on his stone. Then I’ll make sure I have enough friends to cover the spread (he’s more outgoing than I am). I’m kidding!
Which brings me to a happier subject. What we do in life generally doesn’t matter. But if we’ve loved others well and given of ourselves, then isn’t that the best measure of a good life? Our days are counted out for us, and I do try to be mindful and live like this is my last day, except I’m perennially optimistic about my chances; so I fritter away the weeks. But that hourglass is running, and there’s so much to do and many lonely, vulnerable people to love.
I almost forgot to mention cemetery etiquette. I was brought up meeting my grandfather and various other relatives in a graveyard, so I knew the rules. Don’t walk over the graves, step in between them. Remember the saying, “Someone just walked over your grave”? I used to say it when someone got a chill running up their spine. We can’t have that, so we need to be mindful of where we tread.
Don’t let children run and play in a cemetery. It’s a revered place of rest for the dead, and all cultures honor their dead; it unifies us all. If a funeral is taking place, then quiet is needed. No saying hi to random people either, though I can’t imagine why anyone would strike up a conversation with a stranger in such a place. I promise I’ll write something happy to make up for this, but Schindler and his list made me think about the subject.
Oh, I’ll write about moving my Christmas trees all over the house while my husband slept. Instant fun. Though I did hear horrible scraping sounds in one hallway. I really do have to check the hall now. Back soon with more.
