Holy Cross Cemetery

Holy Cross Cemetery

As the birds are singing their sweet melody, the terrain of Holy Cross cemetery is filled with sadness. Although the luminous rays of sun are shinning through the thick colossal treetops, there is a chill in the air. While watching the mourners, the feeling of their sorrows is all too real. When we think about a cemetery, we might be filled with apprehension. We may think of gloomy nights and ended lives but what is a scary and dreadful place to others is a very meaningful place for me. Holy Cross is significant on my grandmother's death anniversary because it brings perspective; it aids us to relax through its serenity and helps us comprehend the fragility of life.

As I drove through the small, wrought iron gates onto the dirt path that slowly meanders through the grounds, I turned left, wary of a relatively large pothole, I pulled over and parked on the right side of the road. As I stepped out, mindful to not tread upon the graves of the lost, it still occurred. Several instances I had caught myself repeatedly apologizing to the departed for carelessly trampling on their final resting places. From the west, walking into the grounds, my mind abruptly lit up to an endless stream of thoughts and emotions that life is far too precious to be taken too gravely. Holy Cross helped put my life in perspective. The "drop dead" date for filing federal taxes was upon us and passed but the deceased care not at all. Life's cost is almost certainly increasing at a steadier clip than your paycheck, but once your heart stops the meter quits running too. Death is a harsh reminder that we'll never get even this world tamed, much less stable. We may not look long upon those boxes that we bury, but nonetheless, they are a constant reminder that life can't be successfully controlled... perspective.

As I continued to walk around the cemetery, hundreds of headstones in the far distance create a silhouette of brilliant mazes against the horizon. The immense land had very little space to spare as it was overflowing with graves of the departed, one particularly belonging to my grandmother whom I was visiting on her 4th year death anniversary. In the distance, the white marble graves are like oversized dominos stacked precisely in the thick, ruffled grass. It is almost inconceivable to imagine that each gravestone was the physical eternal home to a once mother, father or child. As disheartening as it was, Holy Cross is not always gloomy and depressing. There is so much beauty to appreciate. What always stuck me about Holy Cross is that when looking at the statues, the expression of serenity that the sculptors gave to their models left a lasting impression on me. The kind of expression that tells me, "I'm all right now, I have no fear, I'm in a better place now, don't worry about me anymore." This state of peace, relaxation