I used to go to the cemetary to visit my Father's grave and my Grandfather's grave. Now I find myself searching out the children who left too soon, long ago. I feel like they were there to welcome you to Heaven and so I visit them now to thank them for being your friends and to let them know that they are known.
This is the headstone of Harry, he would have been my Great-great uncle. His mother was Effie. I have seen pictures of her, I recognize her gaze. She is searching for a past that didn't have a future. My Mother has told me of how she almost named me after her because she liked the name Effie. I guess that I was meant to be her namesake in another way. Harry died when he was 2 days old.
Five years old.
People seemed to put more lilies and lambs on the graves of children. Cast in stone, a toy for them to sleep with, for always.
Some of the names I cannot make out due to the age of the stone, but I can see the age and the years, mostly.
I now the secret and the pain in their parents' hearts. "Make sure you remember their names" this statue seems to say.
Goldie. She must have been their light. Her parents' graves were right next to her's. When your Daddy or I die, whoever is the first, one of us will have you placed in our arms before the coffin is closed. We will stay with you.
Two children, I don't know if they were twins or not. Crumbled words.
These doves speak of peace without words. The moss speaks of time without life. I don't believe that there can be nothing.
I have seen this stone more than once. I have wondered why her's is so clear looking, it looks protected and tended, while others seem to have been forgotten.
Two one year olds from different years. At the top, above the dove it reads, "Darlings"
Four little ones all the same family, all different ages, all different years, I believe all girls. All gone. There are so many. Next spring, I will remember to bring flowers, the little stones haven't seen soft life for so long. I will bring petals and whisper your name. So many babies, are there enough Angels to hold all of you?
Night, night Frost
Mama loves you.
I have always thought it strange that now a days people seem to think that those 'in the past' must not have cared about their children 'as much as we do' because baby death happened more often. As if somehow it happening more often makes it any less tragic.
ReplyDeletePeople any time, any where love their children, no matter what. It comforts me somewhat to think that I belong to a long line of people out who have come before me that grew old missing their babies.
But I wish none of us had to.
'She is searching for a past that didn't have a future.' Beautifully put.
ReplyDeleteI also search for the graveyard for the children now. I think Emily is right, people do seem to assume that the death of a baby or a child was less tragic in days gone by, purely on the basis that it was more frequent. I'm sure that can't be true.
The stone that reads 'Darlings' just about broke what is left of my heart. Sweet girls.