Silence of the Dead

The first step inside has the fast pace of life receding to nothingness. The second step and the silence is absolute. The birds are respectfully quiet. In this air of peace, vacuums of restlessness are almost tangible. I walk on, the sun beating on my covered head. Beating drums, or is it my heart? In this place of rest, the sound seems insultingly loud.

I am directed towards an ancestor, now encased in marble. I pray. I pray for him, I pray for me. This is all that is left of him, besides the blood that now flows in my veins. I meet others, some I know, and some from before my time. I greet and pray, for mine and the companions to mine. Strangers now neighbours.

I pray for peace. Their and mine.

Finally, I stand before the one I have come to meet. Even here her simplicity is apparent. No shining marble, no marker – just a little stone with a wilted plant. I kneel at her feet, my hand on the burning sand. The tears fall freely, yet no sound emerges to disturb her slumber. My heart aching with the need to feel her arms around me. I hope she knows I have come. I hope she forgives me for not always, being there when she needed me. For as long as I can remember, she has been my anchor. She stood by me when there was no one else. I pray she is happy and at peace.

I miss you gran’ma.

As I walk out, I hear them call me back. To speak of their joys and sorrows, their pains and trials, speak of the living who have forgotten that the dead still exist.

At the entrance, I stop to glance back one last time, wondering who will I rest next to. My heart silently promises to come back. To meet them again. To offer what I can.

My salutations and prayers for the people of the graves. May Peace be Upon You.