The most significant grave I visited was with a girl I knew in high school. We knew each other since childhood, and for as long as I could remember, she was trying to find her birth mother (she was adopted, loved her adopted parents, but wanted to know where she came from). Early on in high school, she was able to track down her birth mother’s name, and we eventually discovered that she had died poor, and was buried in an unmarked grave at the local cemetary. My friends and I created a headstone for her, and with this girl (and permission from the cemetary), we erected it at the grave, and used to visit there fairly regularly.
Other than that, I don’t have any family graves to visit, but many of my friends have died since high school. When I lived in Colorado Springs, I would go down to the cemetary some times and say hi to old friends. It feels odd to know so many people that have died when I am only 27.
I go visit my brother’s gravesite everytime I go up to see about my parents. I’ll go once to take my father (he’ll go there as often as someone will take him) and then once on my own. When I go on my own, I take two bottles of Rolling Rock beer (my brother’s favorite). I open one and pour it around his grave marker and drink the other one. Gary and I would always go out for a beer or two whenever I made visits home when he was alive, so I’m just keeping up the tradition. I figure he’d rather have the beer than flowers anyway.
Baker I think it’s really great that you place a flower on that young woman’s grave. I’ll bet that from time to time a relative of hers’ visits the grave and sees that flower and wonders who remembers his or her great great relation.
I went home to Texas on leave a couple of weeks ago. I had not been to my grandfather’s grave since the burial in '86. I went there and told him about my boys, his great-grandchildren. I think he was happy that I named my first born in is honor.
When I was growing up, visiting the cemetery was a regular happening. First, to go where my mom’s grandparents were buried, as well as my dad’s Uncle George who died before I was born. I remember as a very young child having my dad chide me “Hey, you’re stepping on Uncle George!”
In the mid 60s, my paternal grandfather died, and his wife followed in 1972. We’d go as a family on Easter, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, and Christmas to leave flowers and just keep an eye on things.
My maternal grandparents died in '95 and '96 - they’re in what my grandmother called their “condominium” - a mausoleum in the same cemetery, just across from where her parents are buried.
My dad was buried by his parents last October. One of his sisters is buried nearby. I was there in November just after the groundskeepers had filled some low spots and seeded - Dad’s grave was covered with pigeons having a seed snack. His marker won’t go in until the spring after the ground has had a chance to settle and stabilize.
Visiting the cemetery is a melancholy, sobering experience. The markers range from very plain and old to gaudy and garish memorials. It’s a very old cemetery in a marginal part of town. I don’t know what draws me there, and I don’t know how often I’ll visit once I move back to the state. I do know that I won’t end up there. After any useful bits have been removed, my remains will go to a medical school. Failing that, I’d like my cremains scattered in the Chesapeake Bay.
I rarely vist my dad’s grave. Well now I live in a different state. I went there the first time I took Mrs. Z ‘home’ but only because I thought I was supposed to do it. I just don’t feel any connection to my dad at that place. I feel closer to him when I stand in the backyard where we had cookouts or in the garage where I learned what little I know about cars. Graves just don’t really do anything for me I guess.
Since I am about 1000 miles away from the graves of my father, my brother, and my aunt, visiting isn’t a regular thing, but the distance isn’t what stops me. Even when I’m back home I don’t go.
I saw my paternal granparents’ graves once - while my father was still alive, I asked him to take me, but I was just curious to see where they were buried. I never knew any of my grandparents.
I was to my brother’s grave once, when he was buried. It’s a nice cemetary though, with lots of trees, making it more like a park. (If you ever saw the movie “U.S. Marshals”, that’s where they filmed the cemetary scenes.)
I just don’t get the connection with cemetaries. I know lots of people find comfort there, and go to feel close to their loved ones. My feeling is that, IF you sort of “live on” after death, the last place you’ll find a person’s spirit is hanging around the bone yard. They’re more likely to be someplace they enjoyed while alive.
I believe that if it’s possible to “hear” your living loved ones after you’re dead, you can do so no matter where they attempt to contact you. I see no reason to go to a place where someone’s mortal remains lay, since that’s not at all the true essence of that person.
I have always loved cemetaries. As a kid with a very VERY large extended family, it seems that we were always either going to a funeral or maintaining “great-aunt so&so’s” grave.
My husband is a history buff and we visit cemetaries often. I find them very peaceful and calming. I spend my lunch hour at one near my office when I’m having a bad day.
I also want to be cremated. No open casket or viewing. That has always seemed rather obscene and invasive to me.
< slight hijack >
We have “The Plot” My grand parents, great grand parents, and my father are buried there. My mom and I made the journey to discuss a marker for my father and to ask about the plot diagram (it allows for a bigger monument – so while each family member has a flat headstone-set in the ground, I can have someone build a great, big “CRAYONS” monument, if I want to.)
We needed to talk to the cemetery guy to figure out how to divvy up the rest of the space. So we know precisely where my mom is going to be buried.
I tried, oh how I tried, to get my mom to dance on her own grave. I mean, c’mon, when are you going to get that kind of opportunity?
(Mom, thought about it, but was afraid if anyone saw us, they’d think we were being disrespectful to someone else because a passerby wouldn’t know that the grave belonged to the crazy dancing lady.)
I’m not sure if this will make sense, but visiting my granparents’ graves is the only “tangible” contact I’ve had with them. Three of them died before I was born and the fourth died when I was too young to know him. Seeing the incredible relationships my parents have with THEIR grandkids really makes me feel that loss.
My mother died in 94 and I have never visited her grave. I always just chose to remember her life, rather than her death. I may change my mind one of these days.
Yes, I visit a family one when I’m in town. I sweep the area and place flowers. I reflect, remember and respect.
Also, I enjoy checking out cemeteries in other countries, just to see the differences. Keswick, England has a site with giant old slabs. The celtic crosses on ones in Ireland are interesting. One of the Aran Islands has a site with ruins of old churches. I remember a beautiful grave site in Grindelwald, Switzlerand.
Oh, I forgot the truly bizarre thing that my SIL plans to do. When they retire to Arizona, they don’t want their son feeling sad or forgotten, so they’re having him dug up and re-located in Arizona.
My father is buried in the local Catholic cemetary. Old graves going back a couple hundred years. Lots of Irish imigrants. Plenty of big trees and long grass and wild daffodils blooming in the Spring. We pickout his gravesite, my sister and I, while he was dying. We bought two plots, one for im and one for my mother. She’s since remarried and her husband (one of my dad’s oldest friends) has bought a plot there, too. The gravestones and markers range from very ornate (the Irish Travelers come from all over the Southeast to bury their dead) to very simple (nuns just have a simple marker baring their name and date of death). A family in my parish has a huge section, part full. Generations are buried there, and they’ve bought enough to bury generations more. There’s one marker with a statue of a dog. I’ve often wondered who is buried there? Is it a dog? Is the statue of a dog beloved by the deceased? It’s a good place.
I visit my mother’s grave infrequently. It’s in a picturesque cemetery, atop a hill in rural country. There is a small white chapel, and the headstones have dates form the 1800’s in the old part. My paternal grandmother and grandfather are there as well, along with some great aunts and uncles.
I get a sense of melancholy when I visit there. It makes me remember what little time we had together; I was fourteen when she died. I wonder how she would have reacted to the changes in the world, and what my life would have been with her.
My cousin died in a car crash 11 years ago, at the age of 19. I didn’t go to his funeral, and still can’t bring myself to visit the grave. While I’ve come to terms with what happened, and only occasionally pause for thought to wonder how his life would have turned out, I just know it would be too painful for me.
My aunt, on the other hand, sometimes visits his grave twice a day. Whatever works for her is best I suppose, but IMHO she hasn’t moved on much since the accident happened :(.
Come to think of it, I’ve never attended anyone’s funeral or graveside. I’m dreading the day when an immediate family member dies, and I won’t have any choice in the matter.
My wife and I visit my grandparents’ gravesites when we are in town which is pretty rarely any more now that they are all dead. My father’s parent’s gravesite really doesn’t do much for me (should it?) perhaps because I never felt close to them or even liked them in particular.
My mother’s parent’s grandparents gravesite is another story. I loved them more than anyone else and they surely loved me. I feel an almost magnetic (if humans were made of iron) tug on me whenever I have been there. Get ready to leave. Take a few steps away form the gravesite. Stop. Turn back. Take a few more steps. Stop. Walk balk. Have a rather one sided conversation with them. Take a few steps… It all feels very involuntary and very strange.
We cremated our daugter and cast her ashes to the sea. I go there when I can. That’s often. I will go to where she drowned when I can. I pass it 3 to 4 times a month. Soon I will go to that shore. I miss her so.
In Mexico, there is a day of the dead. I don’t know if it is something that was particular to my family, but we didn’t go for any of that skull candy stuff. El Dia de los Muertos is often portrayed as a party…not with my family. It was an all day ordeal.
We’d get up early and drive across the border to get my Tita. We then all met at the cemetary where Tito is buried. We’d all clean the graves, replant flowers etc…
Then Tita would start in… "oh god, why did you take him? " endless prayers, etc.
It’s hard to be understanding when you are a little kid sitting (RESPECTFULLY!) in the sun.
I grew to detest el dia de los muertos.
As I got older I came to appreciate the tradition and I miss it even.
My Mom lost twins and they are buried in Mexico, in a small town. If I could I would have them exhumed and cremated and give them to my Mom. I know she has suffered a lot with guilt that they are so far away.
Mom has made me promise that when she goes to cremate her and send a portion to be scattered in her home town.
I too want to be cremated. I don’t care for the waste of cemetaries.
On the other hand, I really like old graves… especially monumental ones. I always think that it would be great to have a bizarre mausolium with weird cravings on it just so people wonder who on earth I was.
My last thought on this:
I know this sounds insignificant in comparison to tunabreath’s post (I am so sorry for your loss. ) but I dread the day when something happens to my dogs. I love them so much. I was once shopping on line and I saw an urn with a dog like mine and it made me bawl for hours.
wow. This was a pretty deep thread for me. I really appreciate reading every one’s replies.
I’m very conflicted. My parents died when I was 16 and 17, and I’ve passed very days in the decades since that I haven’t thought of them, but I resent the industry that has grown up to condemn those who don’t remember their dead in the socially acceptable way, and that tries to garner financial gain from the guilt we all feel about our dead. The cemetery sends me notices (or did, before I changed addresses a few dozen times) reminding me to pay the upkeep on some grave, or else the graves will stand untended as a token of my disrespect. But when I shelled out several thousand dollars for the gravesites, did they tell me that eventually, if no one maintained the sites, they would become weedy- grassy, with toppled headstones, etc.? If they were frank about it, why would anyone agree to be buried in a place that was bound, after a certain number of generations, to become an eyesore?
I feel guilty about not doing my duty as a faithful son of my parents, but I would feel resentment more if I were to become an active participant in what seems to me to be a gigantic scam based on survivor guilt.
) but I dread the day when something happens to my dogs. I love them so much. I was once shopping on line and I saw an urn with a dog like mine and it made me bawl for hours.