Living Next to Cemeteries

When I was in my growing up phase of life (read: still living with my parents) I lived in a nice two-story house in a rather nice neighborhood in a rather nice small town. The problem is that this town I lived in had cemeteries. In fact...

...I lived next door to a cemetery. The cemetery was old and me and my brothers used to play in it from time to time. Who wouldn't? It was a war dead cemetery in part and so I would also spend time there reading the names on the headstones and marvelling at the dates, ages of the people when they died, and the names of the people who were buried under the earth in that place. The following is from the hometown webpage:

Pioneer Boatman Memorial Cemetery was begun in the late 1700's and was dedicated in 1976 to Barnerd Boatman, a Revolutionary War soldier, who served with General George Washington. It was formerly known as "The Old Cemetery, Quaker Cemetery, Old East Palestine Cemetery or The Presbyterian Cemetery". It had been abandoned for many years when Barnerd Boatman's grave was found. Boatman Cemetery was once the grave yard of the first church of East Palestine, "The Calvanistic Meeting House." In 1838-1839 that was probably the only beauty spot in the hamlet with it's new frame church. There were many graves in the area, unfortunately many unmarked.

There are about 194 known burials in the cemetery which are listed on one side of a permanent memorial marker. On the other side are names of 21 veterans of 4 wars, Revolutionary War, War of 1812, Mexican and Civil Wars. Burial records have not been found…The earliest marked grave is that of Robert Scott Hamilton, 1836. By 1881 the cemetery was completely filled.

When I was a kid, I had no idea the place was so special. To me it was a place to be afraid of after I saw ‘Night of the Living Dead,’ or a place to play ‘ghost in the graveyard’ with neighborhood kids, or a shortcut on the way to the park. When I was a kid, no one cared about it at all. It sat behind a small manufacturing company building and was ignored by all but me and my brothers and some of the neighborhood kids. We were never vandals and in fact many times took it upon ourselves to stand up fallen headstones.

* * * *

I don’t live in that small town any longer. I’m no longer a child either. I have my own family and my own town and we are in the process of creating our own memories. We do not live next door to a cemetery. There’s no ‘ghost in the graveyard’ or fear of zombies coming after us and devouring our flesh. It’s relatively calm. That does not mean that I have escaped cemeteries though.

If I look out my front window I can see a cemetery. It’s too far away for ‘ghost in the graveyard’ but if zombies ever did become real it would only be a matter of minutes before they discovered our house and came a knocking. Still, we might have enough time to get into the van and drive off before they actually realized there was fresh meat in our direction. Hopefully, the wind would blow the opposite direction if that happens.

So, I’ve moved a little further away from the cemetery, the ‘necropolis’, but I can still see it. It’s in my line of sight every time I pull out of my driveway or look out my front window. It’s a constant reminder, a sort of living prophecy, a harbinger, constantly reminding me of something I'd rather forget: my childhood or my end. I cannot tell which one. I don’t necessarily fear the cemetery. Still, I’ve only ever noticed that no one there complains—at least in my hearing they don’t. Plus, someone else always takes care of the grass and there is a stone with everyone’s name etched into it. A cemetery is not all that bad of a place to be. I hope someday for a place with a view.

* * * *

I can say this much is true: The older I have gotten, the further away from the cemetery I have moved. I’m happy that I now live next door to a church building instead of a cemetery. I’m glad that I don’t have to live in fear of cemeteries and zombies or of other children hiding behind a headstone waiting to shout ‘boo’ when I walk by. I think I can fairly say that cemeteries are now, sort of, merely plots of land with nicely decorated stones pocking the land. Cemeteries have a pleasing, calming, serene feeling about them. As I said, no one there complains.

One of my goals as I age is to move further and further away from cemeteries. I’d like to live in a town where there are no cemeteries at all. I’d like to live in a town with no funeral homes either. I suppose there is not really all that much I can do about that though. There are no towns where people do not die. Honestly, I am not interested in living in a cemetery any more than I am interested in living next to one. I do not want to be chased by zombies, but worse, I do not want to be a zombie. It is rather ironic that my work sometimes requires me to commit people to the very place where I do not want to be at myself.

For now I will have to be content to live in such a place where, at least, the cemetery is off in the distance just within the limits of my distance vision. If I take off my glasses I cannot see it at all, but, you know, I cannot go through life blind either. So until I am willing to let go of my vision I will live in a land where cemeteries are very real, very seen, and very close.

* * * *

"When he had said this, Jesus called in a loud voice, ‘Lazarus, come out!’ The dead man came out, his hands and feet wrapped with strips of linen, and a cloth around his face. Jesus said to them, ‘Take off the grave clothes and let him go.’" (John 11:43-44)

I suspect that, when it is all said and done, the grave will wear out before I will. That's the hope I'm clinging to.

(Photos & excerpt are from the hometown webpage: http://www.eastpalestineohio.org/)

DG