It’s a tall stone obelisk, all four sides covered with heartfelt words written by a grieving mother.
She had been so proud of her son. While still in his twenties, he had already made his mark as a fine railroad engineer. It all came to a tragic end one stormy night on the side of a mountain near Asheville, North Carolina.
He was at the throttle as the engine and its attached coal tender began the long descent. About half way down, the brakes suddenly failed. Faithful to the end, her son was still frantically attempting to stop the increasingly faster moving monster when it left the tracks and rolled over into a gully, crushing the cab and killing him instantly.
Consumed by her loss, she attempted to console herself by erecting the impressive monument in his memory. Many shed tears when they stop to read what only a loving mother could write about her son.
Three hundred miles away in a small pioneer cemetery overlooking the Tennessee River are four identical markers, one for each of four children. Victims of either smallpox or influenza, none of them had reached the age of six. Next to them is buried their mother who also died of smallpox.
The father is missing, and one can only guess what might have happened to him. Did he stay there and remarry for a fresh start or did he decide to leave it all behind, get on his horse, and head west to begin that part of his life over again?
In a cemetery nearly three thousand miles to the northwest in downtown Anchorage, Alaska, is the simplest of markers—an upended and badly weathered wooden plank. On one side is carved a name plus dates of birth and death. On the other side are these words: He was my best friend.
Walk slowly through any of our nation’s more than 144,000 cemeteries and you will discover an infinite range of inscriptions expressed simply or elegantly. Many strike a light note in marking the final resting places of those who lived quiet and ordinary lives. Others go into far more detail as they describe the impressive careers of those who reached notable heights. Reflected in each of them are such bits of emotion or states of mind as happiness, tragedy, success, sacrifice, regret, and love.
The cause of death is equally varied. Some died while heroically serving our country or were victims of violent acts of man or nature. Most, however, simply passed on, their vital organs having given up after many years of service.
Regardless of how the deceased left us, their departure reminds us that as mortals we face the logical sequence of being born, living, and eventually dying. What we believe comes afterward is determined by the beliefs inherent in our faith.
As is evident in every cemetery, we cover those variables by hoping and praying that whatever comes next is peaceful and that when it comes our turn, we may somehow see them again or at least feel or be in their presence.
In the meantime, we tend to shy away from thinking about the inevitable. Still, we are reminded of it when we lose someone close to us—family members, friends, and prominent people who served as shining examples of what we should or shouldn’t be.
In cemeteries we discover many reminders of how fragile life really is. They can cause us to raise questions about whether we are fulfilling the hopes we had for ourselves. That’s especially true when we realize how the intensity of purpose of only one person can affect so many others. Even then, whether they succeeded or failed is often not as important as is the fact that they set examples for all of us to follow.
Summed up, cemeteries not only honor the dead, they also inspire the living.
Regardless of your age or whether the weather is bright or dreary on the day of your visit, nothing will help you sharpen the focus of your life quite like a slow and thoughtful walk through a cemetery.
