Some may find me odd or off-putting due to my affinity for cemeteries. While I am, and always have been, a lover of the macabre, my attachment to the graveyard developed from somewhere else entirely. Growing up, home was not always a peaceful place. Without going into dramatic detail, I will say that my childhood home was frequently filled with yelling, anger, and fear. The summer after fifth grade, we moved to a house that was just a block from a huge cemetery. I would often go there to find peace and solitude during turbulent times.
Inside the cemetery, I felt safe. I would sit and write poetry, or simply daydream about a better life. I would sometimes roam the rows of graves, reading names and dates; I wondered how these people met their demise. What stories would they tell me if they were able? What had their lives been like? The souls of the cemetery were never a threat. They didn’t yell, they didn’t lash out, they never made me feel small. Many times throughout my teens and early twenties, I would wander through cemeteries, seeking an escape from pain.
These days, I am in a much better place in my life. A healthier place. I have love, family, and an inner peace I never knew was attainable. However, I still love to walk through cemeteries. It still brings me an unmatchable calm. I enjoy the beauty of the intricate tombstones and the gorgeous trees. I admire the symbolic continuation of love for the deceased from visitors. In a time when we all seem so hurried and everything seems so loud and fast, the cemetery remains tranquil and still. The cemetery isn’t a frightful place; it is quite lovely if you take the time to appreciate it.