Cemeteries are peculiar places. I’m not sure what is more heartbreaking; tombstones in a steady state of disrepair, the crumbled facades of lives no longer celebrated and commemorated, seemingly void of care. Or maybe it’s the newly minted gravestones, a shining shrine to a newly lost loved ones, or those older final resting places, still tended to with heartbreaking devotion, a sure sign that the devastation of loss is never to be healed. Whatever the case, the eerie blanket of eternal slumber is apparent, and weighs heavily on you as you descend towards your chosen crypt.
Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow;
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain;
I am the gentle Autumn’s rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush.
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft star that shines at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry.
I am not there;
I did not die. (ANON)
Fox in the City says
Ah, what a beautiful post. It must be a comfort to know that, even though you don’t see her, you Nanna is with you always.
Your post has given me goosebumps, giggles (your son driving cars in the cemetary!) and a tear – so gorgeous. A wonderful reminder that they’re not really gone…
Glowless @ Where's My Glow says
Soooo beautiful that you talk to your Nanna and feel her with you, it’s precious. Did you see Clairey Hewitt’s post at Woogsworld earlier in the week? It was about dancing on graves and it was fantastic just like your boy driving cars on her grave 🙂