My departed relatives are all buried quire far away, so the opportunity is rare for a visit, even if I really wanted to. However, I occasionally walk through a nearby cemetery (it’s as lovely as a park, but with no kids or dogs) and I’m fascinated by the history!
I marvel at headstones that show a woman who lived from 1877 to 1976, or a family grave that has the names of five children, all of whom died before the age of four in the early 1900s. I wonder if these people have been forgotten.
Part of the fascination has to do with the nature of my photography (I photograph ruins – usually industrial ruins).
I do visit the grave of my very first boyfriend. We dated for all of six months when I was 16. He died in a motorcycle accident when he was 23 – typically the idiot, he put a helmet on his head but was stupid enough to be the passenger when he and the motorbike driver were too drunk to walk, let alone ride.
There’s no real emotional attachment. We were bratty teens who mostly enjoyed annoying each other. I never even met his parents. He was their firstborn son, and his little brother really worshipped him as a role model. It’s really hard to lose a child, even an adult child. So a bit before Christmas every year, I like to leave an arrangement on his grave anonymously (sometimes I sign a card to “my first boyfriend”), just so his family feels that he is remembered.
Granted, technically he isremembered, though I mostly think he was a dumbass and for most of our “relationship”, I wanted to smack him. But he is remembered and hopefully his family takes some comfort in knowing that.