Have you ever walked in a Louisiana cemetery? Passed through the shadow of a mausoleum hearing nothing but the crunch of gravel beneath your feet? The sound ricochets off the stone making you wonder if you are really alone. Your eyes glance over your shoulder before rationale kicks in. Nothing to see but a tombstone maze and names begging not to be forgotten. Life hovers around the edges with the sound of passing cars and the cicadas’ song. Oak branches embrace the weeping angels resting on top of the graves, consoling the guardians who are never off duty.
These monuments offer a physical representation for the lives they hold. We want desperately for their size to mirror the impact the deceased had on our lives, unsatisfied still with the stone tombs and mausoleums we erect to fill the void they left behind. Wishing we could fill the cracks in our hearts with the same hard stone. Wishing we could wrap ourselves instead in a concrete fortress where nothing has been lost.
The names and dates tell a story, but the story is not complete. There is so much more inside of the concrete.