Yesterday we visited the city cemetery, as we do every year on All Soul's Day. My father is buried there, as is my grandfather and my great grandparents. The children and I clean the graves, pull any weeds and tidy up the family plots. We say prayers, pray for indulgences for those who have died and talk some about death. I usually cry for a while.
I grew up
in a family that went to the cemetery each and every Sunday. First we used to go to Mass, then out to Howard Johnson's for brunch and then we visited the cemetery, bringing flowers to adorn the graves. So, I have a lot of guilt that I
don't frequent it more now that I am an adult. All Soul's Day is the only day
I faithfully go. It is the day that I allow myself to grieve all over again. Maybe it is the sight of my father's name engraved in stone that sets the tears streaming. His death is still fresh on my heart, though he died over six years ago. My grandfather is buried close by and I remember him fondly. He died when I was seventeen.
After all that crying and cleaning of graves, you'd think the day would be too sad to resurrect. I am able now to leave the tears at the gravesite and move ahead. The entire day used to be a wash in the years following my father's death. Now the pain has lessened, though it is never gone.
This year I re-established my mother's tradition from when I was a little girl of allowing the kids to sit on my lap and "drive" around the many wandering, remote roads of the cemetery. There were only one or two other cars there on the single lane road. The entire cemetery is surrounded by a fence and is way off the beaten path. When I was fifteen, my mother taught me to drive there because she said I could not kill anyone <g>.
While All Soul's Day is certainly not the most fun filled day of the liturgical calendar, it is a necessary part of the rhythm of the year. The children and I pray for our family members buried in that cemetery. We pray for all the Holy Souls who are waiting for their entry into heaven. We pray for people we know and people we don't. I hope when I am gone, my children will bring my grandchildren there, drive around with them on their laps and remember to utter an Ave for me.
