Life and Death…

2 02 2011

My next door neighbors are dead.

No, not just reserved, quiet people who keep to themselves. They’re dead.

I live next to a cemetery.

Which in New England isn’t that odd. I wonder if you can drive 5 miles without passing an old “burial ground” or family plot, or active cemetery. Ipswich sure has its share.

And I must confess, I love them. When we bought our house it crossed my mind that it might be kind of weird living next to the dead. But the truth is, I love cemeteries. It’s not a morbid thing; I really find them pleasant.

They are usually beautiful places… lovely locations with often impressive statuary and fascinating stories. I prefer really old ones, where the people whose names appear are so long gone that there is no one left to grieve their loss. The stones serve as reminders of life, not death.

The simple list of names and dates tell stories. Some sad, some sweetly romantic. The woman who followed her husband to the great beyond just months after his passing… at 85 years of age. I like to think she loved him too much to live without him, not that she had one more complaint to make. The row of sad little markers for stillborn children followed by the ones that survived to live long and well. Treasured children, made more so by those that came before.

I can get drawn into a “cemetery vortex” and come out a few minutes later to find hours have gone by, and my camera is full of images most people won’t be interested in. But I like them…

 

 

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2 responses

2 02 2011
Chris Florio

Always enjoy your posts Kristina. Helen and I feel as you do about cemeteries and spent many hours enjoying through Forest Hills when we lived in Boston.

2 02 2011
Brian Brogan

My ancestors child is buried in Ipswich.
Watch your Feng Shui living next to a cemetary, sorry but that’s been my experience.

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