Many years ago, I started a cemetery of sorts in my journals. It’s been so long, I can’t remember exactly why it happened this way. In my mind there are vague connections to a performance of Our Town we did in school.
Each gravestone is unique and has a face, usually a smile. When someone special dies, I write their name on a stone. It’s like my own private tribute to people who have passed on and left an impression on me.
I don’t always know the person, but their passing has touched me in some way.
I had almost forgotten about my smiling gravestones when a recent loss reminded me of them. I found the page in my journal with the most recent set of stones, and added the name of this person.
Among the earliest stones is my father, though I’m sure I started it a couple of years after his death. We just passed the anniversary of that day, which sometimes hits me as surprisingly difficult even though it’s been over 25 years.
I don’t remember what this one was all about. The old me must have known.