Well, here we are on Blogtober day 21 and today’s theme is about cemeteries and I’ve decided to take this into a life story called History in the Shadows.
History in the Shadows
Do you believe in ghosts? When I was little I believed. I always heard noises in the night and believed there was a monster under the bed. Anything for the opportunity to jump into bed between Mum and Dad. Did I think they were real? At the time I probably really did.
When my Dad died I so wanted him to visit me. I was only young and he was gone too soon, too suddenly. I’ve told the story many times so I won’t repeat it in full, but in short, he went to work on the night shift and never came home. I had suffered my first grief before my tenth birthday. I used to visit his grave often with my Mum, nan and little brother. They are all in there now.
We visited frequently for many years, and when my nan passed my Mum and Aunties visited regularly, it was always kept nice. Then Mum died and my Auntie took over visiting and tending the grave, then my Auntie died and her sister took over. But everyone is getting so old and looking after this 50 year old plot is getting harder and harder. I find it difficult because I’m in a wheelchair and although I can get into viewing position, and with help to the actual grave. There is not much I’m physically able to do once I’m there. So what will happen in the future as my family dwindles.
When we took the children to the cemetery many years ago I remember stars looking at all the gravestones and saying’ look at all the books.’ She could see that each of the stones had writing on and I guess a lot of them are book like. I know our families plot is.
Ok, I may have removed names and added a little story instead!
Here is another true story.
The History of the Witch
When I was a little older, probably about 14, I’d decided to tag along with some family and friends to go and ‘wake the witch.’ It was an old wives tale that had been passed down for years.
First it involved a late night trek over the fields to the old church by the reservoir. In the cemetary there was a large gravestone with an angel which had a broken wing. It stood out amongst the other stones as it was so white it almost glowed. I’m not sure why but it installed fear into all the kids. The story was that a witch had killed the child that was buried there.
Once you’d managed the horrid trek by torchlight you had to walk around the stone three times at midnight crying ‘wake up.’ And then you were visited by a ghostly apparition of a witch. Pretty scary stuff don’t you think, even if there was a group of us? We didn’t get to see a ghostly apparition but I did walk through a cow pat and catch my leg on an electrified fence used to keep the cows in. And in all honestly, it was probably only about 8pm because we all had to be home by 9.
= Here is another photo of the cemetery of a local church. How many stories? How much history?
When I die I always wanted to be buried and have a grave. I didn’t want to be cremated, I wanted to rot in the ground like my dad. I’ve changed my mind over the years. Firstly, the cost of funerals is immense, burials even more. I don’t want that burden on my family. I don’t want a tombstone that’s going to end up like those in the photo, covered in moss and forgotten as the generations move on. My generation will stop with my children, I know that, there will be no grandchildren, or great grandchildren to carry on tending my grave. So I don’t want one. I have a funeral plan which I’ve been paying for years. It should just be enough to pay for my cremation, a small service and then I want my ashes scattered and a tree planted.
Times change, and when I was young I would go and visit the family grave and talk to the occupants as if they were still here. But people don’t often do this anymore. Especially people without faith. Once you are gone you are gone. It’s just your name and your memory that remains.
Finally, one more story
“If you don’t turn your life into a story, you just become a part of someone else’s story.”
“And what if your story doesn’t work?”
“You keep changing it until you find one that does.”
― Terry Pratchett, The Amazing Maurice and His Educated Rodents
Day one Welcome to Blogtober 2024
Day two Living to Die and Dying to Live
Day Three Autumn Traditions Around the World
Day Four Blogtober is my Word of the Week
Day Five Books that Feel Like October Reads
Day Eight My Etsy Autumn Picks
Day Nine 10 Ways to Organize Your Kitchen
Day Ten Missed
Day Thirteen Reclaiming The Fireplace
Day Fifteen What Makes me Feel Warm
Day Sixteen – missed
Day Eighteen Transitions and Life
Day Nineteen – missed
So much to think about with this post. I visit my son’s grave at least once a week. It brings me comfort. My mum is in the UK, so obviously I get there less.
It is nice that you can go and visit your family at the cemetery. We used to go to Stu’s parents graves and it was always so sad but nice to feel that we were doing something for them.
At one point I always wanted to be buried too but thinking about it now I would rather be cremated and my ashes threw into the wind. I don’t want people visiting a grave and being sad. x
You’re lucky you live close enough to visit your family grave. My family moved from Alabama when I was 5. There were cemeteries with my mother’s family and one with my father’s family. When my father died when I was 14. My mother died 20 something years later and they are both buried in Tennessee. I have lived in Florida since my 20s and I’m retired now. Cemeteries are far from me. I’d like to visit more often but can’t travel very much. #MMBC