IN MEMORIAM
As some readers may already know, we live over a cemetery. Grass, gravestones and trees form our immediate view out. If you're not among those people, and we're not, who get freaked out by such proximity to the dead then it's great. Green, quiet, dark at night, a bit of wildlife (squirrels, foxes, birds aplenty - if I raise my eyes from my screen my sixth floor window looks directly on to the large birds nest which we've watched being constructed in the top of the tree just outside), and human interest. The lure of the graveyard, and the changes it undergoes across the calendar, even resulted in me writing a photoblog about it for a year.
I mentioned human interest. Rosebank dates back to 1846, so there's a lot of social history in there, and some stories to be found, many associated with the sea. It is also still active as a burial ground, so we see funerals from time to time. Not just the ceremonies themselves, but the work that goes into the before and after aspects of the process. There are frequently workers down there, mowing the grass, trimming bushes, raising fallen gravestones (a surprisingly watchable activity!). But the majority of the people we catch sight of have come to visit the grave of a relative or friend, and that can be very emotional to see. (They do just happen to come to our notice when looking out, we're not lying in wait for them - that would be creepy!)
Many bring flowers on a regular basis. There's one grave which has an annual family gathering, which at least once has taken the form of a barbecue, complete with swingball for the kids. Fortunately they had a nice day for it. Why not combine remembrance with enjoyment?
All of which has been prompted by a graveside visitor we saw today, one we hadn't seen before. It was clearly a highly emotional occasion for him, and he was there for around an hour, so each time we looked he seemed to be doing something different. He kissed the gravestone, knelt in front of it, lay down on the grass, walked around, waved his arms, talked aloud. It was both sad and inspiring to observe, sad at his obvious distress, inspiring that the person who had died evoked such strong memories. Clearly this trip to the graveside meant a great deal to him and, presumably, served to help him come to terms with the loss.
But he was of interest because he was the exception. Few of the mourners we see behave with such complex intensity. But what they do works for them, which is what it's all about. And that got me thinking about the various ways in which we grieve for our dead. There was a time when strict social norms laid down the path for those widowed or mourning the death of a close relative - the wearing of black for a specified period, a withdrawal from society, a need to observe the proprieties rather than deal with the loss as an individual. We are more enlightened now, with fewer strictures of ritual and codified behaviour. We can do what works for us.
When my dad was cremated my mum didn't want anything put up which marked his death. There's no plaque, no stone, no urn. When it was my turn to decide for her I did the same. I am not someone who needs some physical symbol to help me recall or deal with the past. The memories are in my head, and if that requires an aid then they're in photos, in old diaries and documents. I wouldn't find any need to visit a grave or memorial to connect.
But that's a very rationalistic approach and wouldn't suit everyone. Which is why it's good that we have the freedom now to do as we need - funerals, gravestones, memorials are there for the living, not the dead, and the living all have their own needs and coping mechanisms. Today's visitor clearly requires a more corporeal association with the person he's missing, and if that's what he needs then I'm pleased for him that he can do that. À chacun son goût.
