Silence From On High

Sometimes it seems that the only place to find peace is in a place where most people only travel when they, too, are seeking peace. A lonely place where the laughter from small children ceases to echo and the fast pace of life comes to a literal halt. This seemingly morbid area, visited by those who have lost, can be quite inviting when one is looking for solace. Who would have thought that in this sadness there is a sense of tranquil beauty eminating from every stone?

 

My grandfather was buried here when I was eight and his grave marker stands just a few feet away from me. It has been ten years since he passed away and although I miss him dearly, I am happy to be near him. When I was younger it was very hard for me to come here. Being very close to my grandparents has always been a curse for me, for I know that my time left with those who are still alive is limited. For a few years now visiting has not bothered me as much as it did when I was younger and would come to sit for a while. I know now that if I need to confide in someone, these beings will not repeat what I have to say. They may listen, but they will listen in silence. Sitting here now, I have all the time in the world to think. "My car needs fixed, I wonder what that is going to cost me," "I wonder how my mother is doing. I haven't really spent a lot of time with her lately," "Maybe I should have gone to the Wayne Campus after all." Over and over the thoughts in my mind turn.

 

Overhead, a small bird cries as it flits across the sky. I wonder where this dark creature is headed before I remind myself that it does not care why I am here and I must treat it with the same courtesy. The freshly cut grass is being blown around in the breeze, it will not move from the headstones though. Will anyone notice if I start to brush it off? Would they even think anything of it? I doubt I would touch any stone that I was not in some way connected to, but the grass truly is bothering me. Innocent enough as it is, to me it seems disrespectful.

 

The beauty in this place lies in its solitude. People cannot be found laughing and rejoicing with one another here. Tears may be seen, yes, but from these tears stems a reminder of love. Coming here, one cannot expect to be accosted by a group of passersby while in reverie, it is understood that some form of decorum is highly expected. The silence that seemed so oppressing when I was younger now envelopes me in a safety net I know as comforting. It is in this place where I am allowed to grieve if I wish without trying to explain to the masses why I am upset. I am allowed to sit here and think without worrying about being disturbed by someone else or getting in another's way.

 

Now and again I can hear other birds calling out in the distance, but they seem to understand that here is not the place to be too loud. Even the crickets are muted here, their song a soft melody in the backdrop of losses. The sun has provided some mercy by sheltering itself behind a few clouds, giving all those in attendance today a chance to lift their faces into the cool breeze. There aren't many trees here, mostly they border the property, but the few that are scattered seem bent in grievance and respect. It is difficult to picture this as a happy place, but it seems impossible to force upon myself absolute sadness. A part of me is shocked at this revelation; places like this used to disgust me and I'm sure I would not feel this way if I had recently lost anyone dear to me. For now though, I find it soothing. Across the way a young man has stopped by another marker. I wonder who he has lost; a wife or fiancee, a mother or father, perhaps a grandfather as I have? He pays no attention to anyone around him, he simply parks his motorcycle and now stands there, shoulders bent, in silent thought. Something about his dark hair and lean stance seem to enhance his doubled shoulders, as if to scream that this is a new loss and he has not yet begun to move on. As far as I can tell, he isn't crying, but from this distance it would be impossible to say for sure. As I turn to give him some privacy, he notices me and smiles. In return I smile, but this is a puzzle for me. I'm unsure what to think or how to explain what I have just seen. He turns back to his thoughts and I leave him to them. This is not a place I wish to intrude upon anyone; my little mystery seems forgotten.

 

What is it that draws people to the side of their lost loved ones? Is it the silence that allows thoughts to flow freely? Or perhaps the thought that even though someone is not living any more they may still be able to hear what needs to be said? For this I have no answer. I am not sure what brings me here again and again and I would not presume to say what brings anyone else here either. The beauty behind this morbid facade though, that could all just be a part of my own mind. I may be the only person here today who finds this place welcoming, who understands that although these people are no longer with us, they have not left us completely. It is in this place, with the breeze and the birds, the bees gathering up the last bits of pollen and the flowers complying nicely that I know this is not an ending but a gate where communication can still be possible. Whether that be between the living and the lost or two unknown people sharing a smile, it is possible. That possibility, to me, is a very peaceful form of beauty that is so often forgotten in the hustle and bustle of the every day.

Reviews

[Dove]

Well done! I am looking forward to reading more.

Dove

[Michelle]

The beauty of this brought me to tears. It has many factors of emotions and energy to it. Vivid details and images also bring so much to this write.. Beautiful work.

Michelle