I occasionally explore local cemeteries on the weekends. While some may find cemeteries creepy or unsettling, I actually enjoy strolling through all the markers of local ancestors. As I wander through what I view as a historical park I read the names of each headstone the way others may skim obituaries in the newspaper. Each name and date tells a story of a life lived years before my time.

  Two of the saddest things in a cemetery are a child’s headstone and a stone that is eligible. There is a comparison here of a life cut short and the person unknown. Both individuals may fade away in one way or another but they deserve to be remembered. 

   Once as my boyfriend and I walked through the Holy Spirit Ukrainian Catholic Cemetery we saw a child’s headstone with a photo. We reflected on the particular sadness of this situation.

    In my genealogy research I discovered one of my relatives had a baby that only lived to be 5 weeks old. The only record I have found (so far) of this child was a one paragraph obituary. How sad is that? As I was talking about it my thoughts started unraveling. What was that baby like? What happened to her? Is she buried somewhere? But mostly my mind went to: would any of our future generations even know she existed if I didn’t find the obituary? She was a person, maybe just for a short time, but I hope she is remembered. 

  This lead to my next thoughts. Someone in my family had a miscarriage many years ago. The baby was buried in a local cemetery where our ancestors are laid to rest. Now, I know this, and my family knows this, but until now no one else does. Which leads to the question of how many lives are forgotten? How many lives have left a permanent mark on the Earth that passers by see and wonder about? 

​   So as I walk through each new cemetery I find, and capture the headstones in a picture, I hope be helping that person’s memory live on.