A Cemetery Conclusion

When I was young, I used to fear cemeteries. I was always very scared to be near them, which proved a problem when my family moved in behind the Vero Beach Cemetery.

Then I met a grave digger making a new hole on day and asked him if he feared the dead. His wise, southing response?

“I worry more about those four feet above the ground than four feet below it.”

Since then, I’ve not worried about graves, and to an extent have become fascinated by headstones, markers of lives long past in few words and two dates. Like why we bookend lives with birth and death?

Was there not a parent that has a story before we start? Was there not change in life at least a few months before us? Then, do we not live on in our children? In memories of us throughout the community? In work and deeds that transcend our short lives?

Some grave markers are overly religious, with symbols of preferred gods or saints, others have images and etchings of the deceased. But even if it’s just a name and a date, I still find meaning.

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