The Forgotten Ones

 

The Forgotten Ones

 

The view from my second – story  bedroom window is a humbling one.  It reminds me how precious life is everyday.  The view is of a simple cemetery, not quite historical, but dated, none-the-less.

I don’t mind the cemetery at all.  Our house is separated from the cemetery by a stockade fence, a steep slope and railroad tracks that sit down below. These tracks are not for an Amtrak, but for an occasional slow-moving train transferring goods.  I  take comfort in the fact that know no one will ever build over there, and as neighbors to us,  they never make a fuss.  The geese fly low overhead and it is very peaceful.  

The  view to me is comforting, almost like an old friend, now.  The same stones greet me every morning when I open up my blinds.  Sometimes the view can look rather eerie when there is a low fog rolling in, and then sometimes, it can look overwhelmingly beautiful, like just after a snowstorm.  

There are times I have been depressed and sat on my bed feeling hopeless about a situation, and then through teary eyes, I’ll glance over at the solemn view,  and my mind starts reeling.  Someday that will be me, nothing more than a name on a stone.  Who will remember me?  The things I liked, the friends I knew. The things I’ve done?  Will it all have mattered?  Did I make a difference?  An impression?  Then suddenly,  my current problem doesn’t seem so important after all.  That could be me over there. 

Those stones sit there everyday and I see no one.  Not one visitor.  Maybe on a very, rare occasion, I’ll see a lone person sitting on a stone having lunch like they are sitting with an old friend, or a car will sit there and someone may get out and wander.  I mostly see joggers and walkers, and the occasional person walking their dog, only to have it relieve itself on a stone.  Now. that’s a memory I wish not to have when I am gone.

The church in the distance rings out the time at 9:00, 12:00 and 6:00, and I think to myself,  how odd that is , especially for those in the cemetery who don’t care about the time anymore. And the stones sit there day after day, alone in the rain…in the snow…surrounded in leaves…and then sometimes, the miniature flags come out, like for Memorial Day. It looks slightly alive for awhile.

I wonder when the cemetery was first new, how many family members must have come to visit here.  Year after year, with flowers and small gifts.  I can picture groups of families, probably crying and hanging on to each other. Ill bet it was very busy for a long time… and then it just slowly got forgotten. People got older and passed on, moved away or something.  The visiting stops and the stones just sit there and look like they are waiting. Waiting for someone to  just remember them. The people there.  They were here once, talking and laughing.  They had families and memories and pasts.  How sad.  I don’t want this to be me someday, but I guess it will be inevitable.

So, one day, I’ve promised to buy a rose or two.  I’ll walk through the plots and read the names and imagine the lives of the ones that lie there. I’ll place  a rose on top of a stone, stand back and smile… and maybe, I will even say a prayer.

Then, I will say

 to myself, “No, you are not forgotten…not today”.

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7 comments on “The Forgotten Ones

  1. I was looking for a house that backed on to the cemetery where my Dad and his people are buried. The real estate agent told me that homes backing onto cemeteries were not good investments. Like you, I find cemeteries somewhat comforting rather than frightening. The monuments tell us great stories that are common to all humanity and though we did not know those lying in the graves we can identify with the epitaphs “beloved mother”, “sorely missed”, “our darling” … reminders of the human condition are pretty good investments for my money. Thanks for a good read!

    • Thanks so much. i almost thought that maybe this story would be a little sappy, but I do think about it often and it is rather important to me. i don’t mind the cemetery at all, at least I know it will be always quiet, and they never make a fuss! No one will ever build there.
      We are separated by a stockade fence, a slope and railroad tracks down below (not for an Amtrak, but an occasional slow train transferring goods). So I rather like it here and the geese fly overhead and it’s peaceful. Thanks for your comment. I do love those epitaphs.

  2. pttyann says:

    Quiet sad,but so real.I’ve never been one to visit a cemetery it really makes no sense to me,because the people there don’t even know it or see you.I try to love and give now and when death comes I’ll have no sorrows.But as the saying go to each there own,or something to the effect.Sorry if I’m not making sense I’m so “Happy” today after being sick for so long,I enjoyed the read and I’m glad the view gives you much calmness and pleasure!
    Love you and have a wonderful night 😀

    • Thanks Pttyann. I’m glad you liked the read and I’m glad you are feeling better. It was good to hear from you.
      I know what you mean about not visiting cemeteries. My mom and dad lie in one about 25 minutes away, and I don’t visit that one often either. I feel I can just say a prayer and they will hear me. They are not really there, they are in heaven, I tell myself. I get too sad when I am there anyway and then I dwell too much on them not being with us anymore. so I try to stay away sometimes.

  3. […]     The view from my second – story  bedroom window is a humbling one.  It reminds me how precious life is everyday.  The view is of a simple cemetery, not quite historical, but dated, none-the-less. I don't mind the cemetery at all.  Our house is separated from the cemetery by a stockade fence, a steep slope and railroad tracks that sit down belo … Read More […]

  4. Colleen says:

    Very nice blog. So true . . . how your problems seem to shrink when you think of the time you, yourself, have left on this earth. I, too, wonder the same things. I would like to think that I have made some type of “contribution” , no matter how small, during my life to, hopefully, make someone think of me often and for a long time after I have gone.

    As a little twist to your blog, I have to tell you a little story about cemetaries. The development next to us holds a hidden historical cemetary. I know exactly where it is, because I used to walk up there, and one day saw the sign and investigated. It is not easy to see during foliage season. The twist is that the cemetary holds the grave of reported vampire, Sarah Tillinghast. I have had a number of people drive up to our house asking where the cemetary is, latest inquiry just before Halloween this year. If you do a Google search for her name and Exeter, you will get alot of results. One is actually a YouTube video of the cemetary.

    So continue to take comfort, especially since there are no reported vampires in your cemetary!!! (Actually, you may want to check that out!)

    Sis Colleen

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