Sweeping and Polishing, Remembering

I like how quiet and peaceful cemeteries are. There's a quality of serenity, almost meditative. And there's a story behind every tombstone.

There is a cemetery about a fifteen minute drive from home that I especially like. It's set beside a river and woodland trail. Several years ago, I was on a second or third date (middle-age dating, ack!), and as we were walking along the trail we passed by this cemetery. I told him it was one of my favourites. As there were no dogs allowed (he had his with him), he sat outside on a bench and patiently waited while I went into the cemetery to wander around.

There are tombstones in there from the 1800's, young children and whole families buried together. What were their stories?

(In case you're wondering, the date never really progressed into a relationship. Perhaps a bit too much oddity on my part).

A few years ago, while on a solo trip in Croatia, I stopped at a cemetery in the sleepy little town of Buzet. It was up a steep hill, on the way to my hotel. I sat under the shade of a tree and watched people (mostly women) slowly and lovingly sweep around the graves, polish the headstones, and arrange flowers and ornaments. Every tombstone was adorned. The women took their time with their ministrations. There was no rush.

Cemetery in Buzet, Croatia

Sitting in contemplation at cemetery in Croatia. I was careful not to take pictures of the women tending to the graves

Whenever I read inscriptions where a husband or wife dies within a few months of their spouse, I wonder - did they die of a broken heart? 

I heard (or read) somewhere that a person dies twice: once when their physical body dies, and then again when their name is spoken out loud for the very last time. Were the women in Croatia whispering their husbands' names as they polished their tombstones?

On September 4th it was thirteen years since my sister died. She was 55, younger than I am today. I raised a glass of wine to her memory and spoke her name. 

Flowers and poetry, wine and celebration, sweeping and polishing. These are ways we remember our dead.

From a beautiful poem "In Lieu of Flowers" by Shawna Lemay in her post here 10 Poems on Loss :

"So in lieu of flowers:  Buy a book of poetry written by someone still alive, sit outside with a cup of tea, a glass of wine, and read it out loud, by yourself or to someone, or silently."