TheBanyanTree: Saving Miriam

[Monique Young]

We stumbled across the cemetery quite by accident, as is so often the case
when one is in an unfamiliar area. We were driving past what appeared to be
an old and crumbling cemetery when I said, "Oooh, a cemetery!" Andrew, being
attentive to my every wish, pulled over immediately so I could look around a
bit. It was such a pleasantly sunny day anyway, what better time to read
headstones? If it had been raining, a Northwest squall or downpour, that
might have been a different matter altogether, but it was sunny and warm and
there were many trees.

 

I like cemeteries where the headstones are old and upright, some of them
listing to the left or the right, some of them barely readable, the people
so long gone that they may not get many visitors anymore. In this cemetery,
many headstones were from the 1800's and early 1900's, a couple much more
recent, but not all that recent. Perhaps if we were on the east coast
instead of the west we could stumble across older cemeteries, as I used to
do in Ohio, but out here people only started dying recently.

 

Outside of the cemetery, on the other side of the fence, was a portion of a
headstone. It lay at the foot of a tree, and said, "Miri" with part of what
looked like an "a" at the end, and it was entirely out of place. The
cemetery (with all the other headstones) was on the other side of the fence,
and what Miri had managed to do to get herself (she was always a she, no
doubt about it) on the other side of the fence would always be one of those
mysteries it is best not to ponder. We left her there, not knowing what else
to do with her.

 

I looked at groups of headstones, seeing relationships emerge from the
indistinct names. Family names help with identification, but when the names
are dissimilar, there's no telling who is related and who is not. One
grouping, set off from the others, was of three. Father. Mother. Husband.
And no wife. Where was Wife? Once she buried Father, Mother, and Husband,
did she remarry and later find herself buried with a new Husband? Or did she
just really not care to be stuck with those three for all eternity? Unless
she had managed to achieve immortality, she had to be dead, for the
headstones were quite old and listing (and perhaps even listless, it was
hard to tell in the shade underneath the tree that stood over them).

 

Rows and rows of headstones, many of children and people in their 20's. It
was not a particularly healthy time to live. I've been remarkably lucky in
that there have been so few deaths in my family, and when death does happen,
it's in an expected age group. (Not that any of us would ever expect it. I'm
quite sure when I'm 98 and stricken down suddenly I will cry out, "But
damnit, I wasn't supposed to go YET!" That is, assuming I have a chance to
say anything at all.)

 

We found a few missing headstones. And we found a portion of headstone lying
next to its stub of still upright secure third piece, on which was very
clearly writ, "am," and so we knew we'd found the rest of Miriam. Well, we'd
found all of Miriam, technically. The vandalized headstone outside the fence
was only a headstone, after all, and contained nothing of Miriam herself. Or
so we think, but what do we know? We weren't taking any chances, though, so
Andrew fetched the "Miri" part of the headstone, sat the "am" part of the
headstone up, then the "Miri" part on top, and it all fit together just as
well as it should have when it was first put up.

 

We were happy that Miriam was at peace at last, though Miriam had no doubt
been at peace long before we stumbled across her resting place. It had to be
so. Miriam, pioneer woman that she was, was not likely to let a little thing
like a headstone (heavy, but in the grand scheme of things, rather little)
get in the way of her rest. 

 

I would have been a pioneer myself, if I hadn't been born so late into
things.

 

Before we left we found a portion of a man underneath a tree. Not the man
himself, but his headstone. We (meaning Andrew, of course), picked him up
and searched for his final resting place. It should have been easy, for how
many people were missing a headstone? Unfortunately, more than a few, which
gave me pause to wonder: is there a black market in headstones? Are tomb
robbers stealing off with them in the dead of night in order to concoct some
sort of potion? Where do they go?. However, we did manage to find David's or
James' or Charles' site (the name Miriam stuck with me, but not the
gentleman), and when the missing piece was placed back on top it fit
perfectly. I'm sure David or James or Charles turned over in his grave when
his missing stone was returned to him, before falling back asleep. 

 

We saw no ghosts at the cemetery, but that's just as well. It's enough to
know they're there, and in that way they're quite ghostlike still. There,
but not there. And while it's considered unmannerly to speak ill of the
dead, are we truly convinced that each and every one of them were kind,
benevolent, and caused no harm to another living soul while they were alive?
Of course not. But from up here (as we look down upon their graves), they
all look the same: blameless and innocent, good people whose lives may have
been cut short at the most inopportune times. Just like us, except for that
last bit so far. 

 

When we left the sun was shining, there was a slight breeze, and all the
inhabitants seemed at peace, though that's a rather difficult thing to tell
from ground level. No telling what's going on down there. (As my stepsister
said of her mother the other day, when we met after years of not speaking,
"I don't know if she's down there (motioning downward) or up there (looking
up), so I just alternate which way I address her.") A good policy, I think,
just in case. No sense doing all our talking in one direction if we're not
sure. 

 

We got in our car and drove away. We saw no more cemeteries on our trip, but
perhaps we just weren't looking properly. Then again, they're better if they
sneak up on you.