I had a pondering today.
I am not sure what started it and to be honest it isn’t the first time this pondering has crossed my mind.
My mind wandered to cemeteries and memorials and those who remember what those memorials are for and for whom.
It occurred to me that after a fashion who would remember.
There is a cemetery up the road from me. In it is a memorial to some members of my family.
At one time there were even some remains there. (You know bodies and such.) And I know for a fact that there are some ashes in a box.
I at this time am the last of my family to live in this area. I am the only one here who knows of these people, who they were, what they did.
What happens when I am gone?
And what about me? Or you? Or any one of us?
After a time and it may even be a short time who will look at that memorial in that cemetery and say I knew that person!
Really who’s going to remember? And truly who is going to care?
One hundred years from now will someone wandering through the woods.
Come across, in the middle of nowhere.
A
Cemetery.
And there amongst the worn and weathered and weary stones
Once bearing the names of someone,
will they say who was this person? What did they do? How did they live? Did they laugh? Did they love?
Who will be there to tell their story?
The stones are silent. Their voices muted by the passing of time
And so too with the passing of time wind and rain have carried off the only memory of whom this was.
I am not sure what started it and to be honest it isn’t the first time this pondering has crossed my mind.
My mind wandered to cemeteries and memorials and those who remember what those memorials are for and for whom.
It occurred to me that after a fashion who would remember.
There is a cemetery up the road from me. In it is a memorial to some members of my family.
At one time there were even some remains there. (You know bodies and such.) And I know for a fact that there are some ashes in a box.
I at this time am the last of my family to live in this area. I am the only one here who knows of these people, who they were, what they did.
What happens when I am gone?
And what about me? Or you? Or any one of us?
After a time and it may even be a short time who will look at that memorial in that cemetery and say I knew that person!
Really who’s going to remember? And truly who is going to care?
One hundred years from now will someone wandering through the woods.
Come across, in the middle of nowhere.
A
Cemetery.
And there amongst the worn and weathered and weary stones
Once bearing the names of someone,
will they say who was this person? What did they do? How did they live? Did they laugh? Did they love?
Who will be there to tell their story?
The stones are silent. Their voices muted by the passing of time
And so too with the passing of time wind and rain have carried off the only memory of whom this was.
