The whisper of a lost name in the wind

The IgNoble Experiment, a.k.a. Live Dangerously!: Fun At The Cemetery

I was moved by this entry, in which Irina speaks of "a chance to those who didn't live long enough to have descendants." It got me reminiscing about a particular incident. (I may have blogged about this before, but my wife says I am senile, and I believe her because I frequently forget details like this. :-)

Near where my parents had their farm, in a town called Delta, is a wonderful little beach and park. My parents used to bring us to the beach all the time when my brother and I were teenagers. When my kids were younger, my wife and I used to take them there all the time. We even camped there once or twice.

Beside the park is Delta's cemetery. On days when I was feeling quiet and contemplative, I used to wander through the cemetery, hoping I might connect with the dead. In that place, there seems to be great peace, and although a cemetery is the scene of many tears, a sense of calm prevails in this one. Perhaps it is the setting, perhaps the breeze, perhaps the sound of children laughing in the nearby park.

As I wandered through one day, in the early nineties, I noticed fresh flowers and a wooden carving at one of the stones. The carving was a wooden heart, and pyrographed onto the maple heart was one simple word - “Emily.” The stone said about her simply, “Taken into eternity November 23, 1987.”

You can tell a little about someone from her grave. Her married name was on it, but her maiden name featured most prominently. She was only twenty three – someone who had just set out to begin their adult life, much as my own daughter just has – and it was cut short.

It is very important that the memory of people continue in this world. I do not know why that is, but I know it in the heart of my being. And so I have kept a memory of this Emily with me. I have no idea who she is, other than to imagine that in the small town of Delta, I surely passed her on the sidewalk or in the park one day. But the memory of Emily matters.

And because it matters, I remember.