Today I took the boys to a cemetery and we enjoyed the company of quiet neighbors. It reminded me of times my late mother would take me for afternoon naps in the cemetery; it kept me busy for hours. Conversations, tests, chalk rubbings and bringing flowers to vacant graves. In adulthood hindsight, the divine moments with mom later became something else, something unholy and distant from spirituality. A place to meet strangers while I was making friends.
Teaching mortality is hard and easy at the time. .
"The living come with grassy tread, To read the gravestones on the hill; The graveyard draws the living still, But never anymore the dead. The verses in it say and say: "The ones who living come today To read the stones and go away Tomorrow dead will come to stay." So sure of death the marbles rhyme, Yet can't help marking all the time How no one dead will seem to come.
What is it men are shrinking from? It would be easy to be clever And tell the stones: Men hate to die And have stopped dying now forever.
I think they would believe the lie.
by Robert Frost
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