So my 36th birthday was just a few days ago. I took the day off, with several things on my list of fun things to do to celebrate, including a morning of wandering and taking pictures, first of flowers in the Public Gardens and then gravestones in Camphill Cemetery.
Why, you might ask, would I want to visit a cemetery on my birthday? Well, let me tell you a little story about that. I have always loved walking in cemeteries, even as young child, and most certainly as a teenager, when I was completely obsessed with Anne Rice’s The Vampire Chronicles. I have always experienced a sense of spaciousness among the silent, falling gravestones, a serenity that confirms my hope that the Dead do, in fact, rest in peace.
I grew up near a graveyard, and would frequently walk there, wandering in and out of the granite headstones, tiptoeing in between the grass-covered footstones, trying very hard not to walk over the actual graves themselves – it seemed disrespectful to the Dead, somehow, to step over them while they slept.
As I grew up and travelled abroad, I continued to journey to wherever people remembered their Dead: the old graveyards of Scotland where the rich, dense moss clung to the gravestones like a second skin; the haunting, stone memorials that depicted the emaciated prisoners of Buchenwald, a concentration camp in Germany; the Killing Fields of Cambodia, where a towering glass monument showcases the skulls of those lost in Pol Pot Regime – a place where hundreds of tiny, yellow and white butterflies gather to offer solace and comfort to those who come to remember the horrors of war and genocide.
As I walked through Camphill Cemetery, taking photographs of the markers of lives lost, I remembered these places and the bittersweet feelings I felt when I had there - the heartache of sorrow and the joy and appreciation of being alive. I reminded myself, that I, too, shall die, and I, too, shall be nothing more in this world than a name written on a stone.
And even though it seems like a depressing thing to think about on one’s birthday, it is the truth, and it’s a relief for me to acknowledge that. There is a sense of liberation that can only come from calling a spade a spade. When I acknowledge the path that lies ahead for me - suffering, old age, sickness, and death - the realities of the human condition – it reminds me of why I need to pay attention to my life right now, in this very moment, cherish my loved ones, and appreciate my health while I still have it.
As I left Camphill and went for lunch, the words of John McCrae floated through my head. You may not know his name, but I’ll bet you know the poem he is most known for, for we all had to memorize his haunting words in elementary school:
We are the Dead. Short days ago,
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
loved and were loved and now we lie
in Flanders fields.
It is said in the Buddhist teachings that death comes suddenly and without warning. And with that thought to contemplate, I ate my birthday lunch – a lovely avocado melt and scrumptious chocolate brownie. With my own mortality in mind, I continued on with my birthday celebrations - a peaceful nap, an invigorating yoga class with a live drummer, and Thai take-out with my darling husband. It was a lovely day to be alive.
© ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, Angela Dawn MacKay
Beautifully written - thank you. You are an inspiration. <3
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