Monday, April 1, 2013

Final Resting Place

As a child, one of my fondest memories was that of my father driving us to the cemetery to visit the graves of my mother's relatives including that of her father, who she lost when she was only five years old.  My father would dutifully turn off the radio as we entered the majestic looking gates and we were given a primer on cemetery etiquette.  Never walk on anyone's graves, keep conversation to only that which was necessary, whisper if we must talk,  and pray for the souls of those entombed there.

I found the mausoleums fascinating.  By comparison, my grandfather's grave did not even have a headstone to mark it and here were these houses of marble, probably costing more than any place my poor parents ever called home.  But what struck me most were the graves of infants and children.  One in particular always stayed with me, so much so that I find myself on the look out for it even now.  The inscription read something like "Here lies our little angel".  I don't even remember the child's name or whether a boy or a girl but I do remember that the monument marking the grave bore a sculpture of a guardian angel with his hand on a child's shoulder, guiding him or her toward eternity.

By contrast, the grave of my cousin, who died of a lethal childhood cancer when he was scarcely past a year old, wasn't marked at all.  Not long after his death, his grieving mother became pregnant with another little boy.  Shortly after his birth, his father announced he was leaving my aunt.  I don't know how my aunt withstood so much grief in so short a period of time.  I know she never really recovered. The grave of her baby never did get a marker.  It would be years before my mother and her siblings could afford to put a headstone on their father's grave, where her mother also would eventually be laid.

And the thing is, whether she would mark it with a mausoleum or not at all would not matter in the least.  These things and these places are intended for our comfort.  The only way to comfort the departed souls is by praying for them. My mother always says that she never prays for her mother, only to her because she is convinced her mother is a saint.  That is not for me to judge but I do know that my grandmother's example in life could only be called saintly.

The past few years I've made it a practice to visit this cemetery on Holy Saturday.

 My favorite inscription is "My Jesus, mercy, Mary, pray".

What more needs to be said?

What follows are some photographs I took on my last visit.





9 comments:

  1. Joyce, what a lovely reflection. No matter what the headstones, monuments, etc., look like, only the Lord knows who is really "rich" in those cemeteries. Death..the great equalizer! It's good to recall our mortality from time to time. Lovely pictures. You dad sounds like he was a wonderful father. Love that he told you all to pray for the deceased souls...and you still do that.

    Speaking of prayer, my poor sister was in a wreck this afternoon. Man ran a red light and plowed into her car as she crossed the intersection. Total loss of her car, although she appears to have no serious injuries, thank God. But, she can't believe all of the "stuff" that keeps happening to her. I don't know what to tell her anymore. Would be most grateful for your prayers. Thanks, dear Joyce xo

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    1. Hi Patricia,
      My dad is still with us, thank God, so he still is a wonderful father, even though he can be stubborn (do any of us know a man who isn't? LOL) He spends a good part of his day praying, so I asked him if he would pray for your sister, and I prayed for her also at my Holy Hour today. I also remember everyone's intentions at Mass and Adoration every day.

      Yes, death is the great equalizer. A priest who is now retired always prayed at Mass "for those who are about to die today, either suddenly or from illness". I also try to remember this at daily Mass too and recommend it to others.

      Thank God your sister is OK, though it really does seem sometimes that when it rains, it pours!

      Love and prayers,
      Joyce

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    2. Joyce, so touched that your dad is praying for my sister! Prays all day? How wonderful...and so happy that he is still with you. Miss my dear parents so much.

      Grateful as always for your own dear prayers. xoxo

      PS My sister is terrified of Purgatory. But last night, I told her that after the events of the past few months, Purgatory might not be such a bad option :)

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  2. Thank you for sharing this, Joyce.
    I love old cemeteries. The statuary in this one is beautiful and is obviously cared for.
    The little cemetery a mile from my house is not in such good shape. The tombstones date from the 18th century, and acid rain is doing a number on them. When we moved here 28 years ago one could easily read the inscriptions, but no longer.
    I have always liked the headstones with hands on them with a finger pointing skyward. (Going up!-hopefully...) Even more poignant is the section of this cemetery where slaves were buried. Their "monuments" consist of large rocks buried at an angle with just initials scratched on them.

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    1. Hi Julie, yes, this is a pretty well cared for cemetery, but some of the faces on the statues have taken a beating from the weather. Not even the monuments to eternity last forever :) I also like the headstones with the angel Gabriel atop them, with him pointing skyward. I did get a few shots but Blogger gave me a difficult time downloading these pics so unfortunately it's not included here. That's one of my favorite images as well. Interesting about the monuments to the slaves although that's more than some of my mother's relatives have.
      Love and prayers,
      Joyce

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  3. I saw a Jesus statue a lot like that one while driving in Jersey. I loved it even from a distance.
    God Bless!
    +JMJ+

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    1. Yes, this was magnificent. And the sky was so blue and clear on Saturday it was just perfect. Too beautiful to be where hardly anyone sees it, that's for sure.
      Love and prayers,
      Joyce

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  4. Joyce, I never thought of going to the cemetery on Holy Saturday..
    Such a beautiful reflection on those we've had to bury, but who one day will rise again like our Lord.
    xxoo +

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  5. Caroline what I neglected to include in my recollection above is that my father always took us during Holy Week, usually on Holy Saturday. What's more amazing to me is that he didn't have any relatives in that cemetery but he dutifully took my mom, even though, truth be told, he was never fond of his in-laws! He's a good man.
    Love and prayers,
    Joyce

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