Cemetery Stories

Candy mentioned how cemeteries tell stories of love and loss and that is so true. We walked through so many cemeteries and they each tell their own stories. You can tell who had money and who was very poor. The rich have beautiful tombstones engraved professionally. The poor have thin tombstones engraved by a friend or family member. An effort has been made to make the tombstone look nice and to make sure that all the information is written there. The destitute have a tiny slab. Sometimes just a head and footstone with no markings. If there are markings they look as if they have been done with a stick or some other sharp object in wet concrete. Sad but at least someone marked their grave.
I was struck by how many babies are buried in these old cemeteries. Some families have lost multiple children...infants, toddlers, 5-yr-olds...heartbreaking. During the Civil War and right after, so many babies died. That particular part of Alabama and Tennessee are still considered Appalachia...poor, mountain people who farm for their living. It is hot in that part of the country...humid and miserably hot. We felt like we were swimming through the Whitten Chapel Cemetery...the air was so thick. I know that they must've worked very hard in order for their children to survive that first year. Poor hygiene, poor diet, no medical care, and the humidity to help the germs multiply.
I have worked in labor and delivery for several years now and I have seen too many babies die. One baby is too many. Yes, I mostly work on the happy floor but when things go wrong on our floor, it is also the saddest floor. I have wrapped many babies for the morgue. I have held many crying parents. I have sat in the silence with them. I have climbed up on their beds and wept with them. I have handed them their dead babies to hold and look at. I have unwrapped them so that they can see their tiny hands and feet and ears. I have footprinted them and saved locks of hair for the parents. I have dressed them in their going-home clothes. They are going home, just not to the home that their parents intended for them.
Those Civil War families went through this often. They prepared those babies for burial. They wept over them. They bathed them and dressed them in their best. Someone built a tiny coffin and they all gathered around as that baby was buried. They softly sang a hymn to bring back their hope and they held on to each other. I am sure that mothers and fathers and brothers and sisters and grandparents came back and visited those graves and cried over those babies and put flowers on their graves. I wish that I could hear their stories.
We saw one newer grave in a huge cemetery for a son who had died at 22 years old. The back of the tombstone said something like this.
Steve,
Your sweet smile
Your gentle ways
Your loving presence
My memories
Love, Dad
I would love to hear that story.