On Labor Day afternoon, I visited all of my past, present, and future.
Sometimes, when you feel like you have to do something, just take the plunge and do it.
When I arrived at the city-run Evergreen Cemetery for the first time in over four years, my first impressions were the tranquility of this historic site, the beauty of the rolling hills, the small paved roads perfect for walking, and It was a deep forest. feel.
Late on the holiday afternoon, temperatures were perfectly mild and the nostalgic sepia light of late summer filtered through the canopies of evergreens, Colorado blue spruces, maples, ponderosas, pinions, and Gambel oaks.
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As I drove through the wrought iron gates, I suddenly felt bright red. Was I feeling the collective energy of the thousands of mourners who lost their loved ones? probably. The cemetery was built about 150 years ago, and its location was chosen by the city’s founder, Brig. General William J. Palmer chose the site for its high bluffs overlooking the city and its access to the El Paso Canal, which channeled water from Prospect Lake to the cemetery. Palmer himself is buried here, along with his wife Mary “Queen” Palmer and Marjorie Palmer Watt (one of his three daughters and Marjorie’s husband).
On this day the cemetery was almost empty, except for a woman walking up and down the road and a group of cheerful young people gathered near some gravestones in the distance.
A Gazette reporter recently visited the city’s Evergreen Cemetery and reflected on those buried there and in her memory.
I thought about cemeteries and ghosts, but if they exist, do they hang out near where they are buried? If they are congregating somewhere, is it near loved ones, or near places where they spent the most time or loved their lives the most? Or, especially like a car accident? If the death was particularly traumatic, the energy may remain in the place of death.
Then I remembered an old friend who passed away 10 years ago at the young age of 55. He left me two ghost stories. One of them was his own story. Old friend, where have you been? The second time was when I drove by a historic Civil War battle site and saw what appeared to be Civil War soldiers in full uniform walking around. When he looked again, they were gone.
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But maybe there’s a spirit or two strolling quietly among the gravestones. I spent several hours reading between the lines carved into the tombstones and peering inside the cabin-sized mausoleum inscribed with some of our city’s historic names. , like Giddings and Lennox. Some tombstones are simple and clear, while others tell a mystery. Why did two children born years apart both die at 18 months old? And years later, their father. And has the wife, who lost her husband years ago, found a new and wonderful love? And the 26-year-old’s loved ones visited him on his birthday in August, leaving him happy birthday balloons and artificial flowers. how did he die? An eternal mystery.
As I walked, I thought to myself that I wish my father’s gravestone was nearby so I could visit it. There we can still build relationships. Although it has been nearly 20 years since my father passed away, I believe that this relationship will never end.
For the most part, the 220-acre property was extremely quiet, although I could hear intermittent bagpipes playing somewhere in the distance.
Evergreen Cemetery is nearly 150 years old and its location was chosen by the city’s founder, Brig. General William J. Palmer chose the site for its high bluffs overlooking the city and its access to the El Paso Canal, which channeled water from Prospect Lake to the cemetery. Palmer himself, his wife Queen, and one of his three daughters, Marjorie Palmer Watt, and her husband are buried here. (Chance Bush, Gazette)
Sitting in a cemetery reminds one to be grateful for life and the many years of life in which one has been blessed with much more good fortune than the dead that surround him. And when your bones are walking on top of thousands of other bones on Earth, you still feel earth-side, so to some extent you feel okay with the ravages of time inflicted on the human body. Your particular bone bag can still walk around and connect with other bone bags.
There’s still time to fall in love, eat a slice of cherry pie, watch the harvest moon rise in September, and pet your dog’s velvety ears. You still have time to tell your other secrets, forgive yourself, listen to ghost stories, marvel and awe, and watch great blue herons fly. Its wonderfully long body soars overhead into a more fruitful sea.
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Cemeteries help celebrate the earthly dimension. And accept that the fate of those sleeping deep within the earth is also your fate, and how invasive and ridiculous we humans are to pretend we are not all headed for the same purpose. Even if you invent a method, you can’t do anything about it. It is easier to accept the light fading than to resist it.
I don’t know what I want at the end of my life. I had said I would donate my body to science, as my mother had always requested, but last year I was told by a woman in her 80s who asked about the process that all her remains were in stock. .
But in reality, I might want my last nap to be in a specific spot because I might want to have a place for someone to talk to me after I’m gone. And maybe I’ll come and listen too.
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