Cryptic messages
I’m currently reading “Somebody Is Walking on Your Grave: My Cemetery Journeys” by Argentine writer Mariana Enriquez. In it she recounts her visits to graveyards around the world over a number of years. It’s entertaining and insightful. Graveyards can reveal so much about us.
I suppose this subject matter may seem morbid to many, but I’ve always been interested in how we memorialize our dear departed, how the size of the monument erected after our death often seems to dwarf the size of our living accomplishments. The cemetery where my parents rest has several outsized tombs and monoliths memorializing people I’ve never heard of, so did they serve their purpose? Still, if you want to go big, it’s easy to do so.
The website of Rome Monuments, headquartered in nearby Rochester, PA, provides a fascinating overview of the current cost of having an above-ground crypt or mausoleum, with prices ranging from $15,000 plus installation for a modest one-person version to $121,787 plus costs for a small, private walk-in mausoleum with two crypts “with custom bronze doors, custom bronze wreaths and 2 sports car pictures.” Not a racing fan? Substitute VW Beetles.
I see no value in having an elaborate memorial crypt or obelisk. I hope that my survivors will honor me in their memories. Images in digital photo frames will be helpful, as will all the forgotten prints from Foto Hut that have been languishing untouched in boxes for 40 years and longer. As for visiting my grave, I don’t plan to be buried, so that’s out. My body’s going to science – if science hasn’t been outlawed by the time I pass.
Still, I am in awe of some of the cemetery monuments in cemeteries. Perhaps the most striking one that Enriquez mentions is “The Kiss of Death,” a life-size marble sculpture located in the Poblenou Cemetery in Barcelona. A memorial to textile manufacturer Llaudet Soler’s son, who died young in 1930, the sculpture portrays death as a winged skeleton bestowing a kiss on the forehead of a young man lying peacefully in its arms. The detail is exquisite, beautiful. The sculpture is an example of “momento mori,” a Latin phrase loosely translated as “remember that you must die.” At my age, I need no reminders.
How should I be memorialized? When I was a reporter, a co-worker told me about a man who died while sitting on his front porch one summer. Passersby waved at him from their cars, thinking that he was just relaxing. That’s as much of a “visitation” as I want. I understand that funerals provide a sense of closure, a chance for family and friends to commiserate, to “pay respects” to the departed. But does the departed know this? I’ll ask.
So, no funeral for me. A memorial service for me would be fine. It should be a “celebration of life” rather than a public weeping, wailing and gnashing of teeth. Rent a firehall and, as they said in the Swingin’ Sixties, “wig out.” Dance like the characters in the Charlie Brown TV specials. Do the Boomerang, the Twine and the Jerk. And make sure the music is played by a live band- so loud that a lot of people cover their ears and leave early.
Those who remain will have been my true friends.