A Walk Among Tombstones

by Donna Poole

Just down the dirt road a bit from our country church is a peaceful, old cemetery. A brick pillar at the entrance reads:

Lickly’s Corners

Cemetery

1848—1954

Inside that cemetery rest grave markers of people we’ve loved and lost, friends and neighbors of our church. There we’ve also found tombstones carved with names of roads in our area: Carncross, Tuttle, Lickly, or is it Lickley?  There was some kind of ancient disagreement on how to spell Lickly. I don’t imagine the two families involved stood on opposite sides of the dirt road and hurled insults at each other. Whatever happened, the result was the name of the cemetery is spelled one way, but the road and our church, Lickley’s Corners Baptist, are spelled the other.

One warm Sunday, the day before Memorial Day, my daughter Kimmee and I wandered among the tombstones in that cemetery, fighting off the ever-present mosquitoes. We paused awhile at the marker of Kenneth and May Hale who’d been our dear friends and neighbors for many years.

We found elegant markers and plain ones, gravestones too worn to read, and others still legible. All were fascinating; all told a story. This one is on a tall piece of stone and the letters look hand chiseled.

JOHN LIBY

BORN

FEB. 23 1793.

DIED FEB. 12 1859.

POLLY

HIS WIFE

BORN

NOV. 26, 1795.

DIED SEPT. 1, 1894.

Who were you, Polly, and what did you do all those long years after John died?

On a stone that looks like a triangle perched on a log sits this marker:

DANIEL FIELD

1853—1901 68 YS.

SARAH M. HIS WIFE

1840—1919 78 YS.

And you, Sarah M., you outlived your husband by eighteen years. Did they seem terribly long to you? Were they healthy years for you?

It seems most people buried in our old cemetery lived long years for the time, probably a combination of fresh country air and hard farm work. We found this tombstone that read:

SEPHRONIA

WIFE OF

ELIAS JOHNSON

DIED

NOV. 6 1897

91 YRS. & 10 MOS.

I imagine you were sugar and spice, funny and spunky, Sephronia, just like a lot of the old farm women I knew when we first moved to Lickley’s Corners. I remember them laughing at the idea of Women’s Liberation.

One of them said, “We’ve been liberated to do men’s work all our lives. We wish someone would unliberate us!”

They’re all gone now, the old ones we knew when we first came here to live. They taught us so much about life, how to live it, and how to leave it when the time comes.

Kimmee and I kept wandering through the tombstones with each other and with our memories. We looked for military markers because it was Memorial Day weekend, and we found some. Our favorite was a barely legible marker. Kimmee discovered it in the back of the cemetery in a beautiful quiet spot between three trees. The worn marker read:

UNKNOWN

U.S. SOLDIER

I stood there for a minute feeling grateful for all the members of the military who’ve died to secure our freedom. That, after all, is the real reason we celebrate Memorial Day.

But the mosquitoes were especially bad in that spot between the three trees, and Kimmee and I soon retreated to the car.

I love Memorial Day.

We try to attend the Memorial Day parade every year in our little town of Pittsford. The band may be a bit out of step and not always quite in tune, but I love them. They remind me of my own high school band where our frustrated director, Mr. Pinto, once shouted at us, “You kids can play! And you kids can march! But you kids can never play and march!”

I love the fact that there’s so much time between floats in our little parade we can catch up on old times with surrounding neighbors. We could probably order a pizza and get it there between floats.

My favorite part is when the vets go by, carrying the flag. I put my hand over my heart, and I get tears. Every time. Because I love our country. I’m not blind. Nor am I deaf. I hear the shouts from the left and the right; I hear you. Yes, our country is far from perfect; perhaps we’ve never been in this much trouble before. Some claim America is dying.

Those old markers in the cemetery remind me of each dying bedside I’ve sat beside. They are sacred memories. I’ll share just one, from my dad.

Dad said many things when he was dying, some funny, some heartbreaking.

He said one thing that brought tears to my eyes. He woke up, looked around the room, and said, “So sorry. So sorry. Long ago.”

Each time Dad said he was sorry for something my sister assured him that because he’d trusted Jesus as Savior, all was forgiven.

America has a lot to be sorry for too. And God will forgive us if we repent, but I’m afraid we’re so busy shouting at each other we can’t imagine “our side” has anything to repent of.

I’m not one for standing on street corners and hurling insults at the opposing side, but people have died to give us freedom to do so. How many people?

“Since the revolutionary war ended, 646,596 American troops have died in battle and more than 539,000 died from other non-combat related causes.” –military.com

The fact is America isn’t going to be spelled one way anymore, and I don’t think it ever was. What’s the answer?

I wish I knew, but here’s a novel idea of a way to celebrate Memorial Day, and I wish it could happen every year.

Take my hand and come with me. Let’s walk among the tombstones and remember how short life is; one day our lives too will be just a story someone else is telling. Let’s stop hollering about each other’s sins, confess our own, and let’s pray for our country.

Then we’ll leave the tombstones behind and find a small-town parade. When the veterans go by carrying the flag, I’ll put my hand over my heart, and you put your hand over yours. We’ll silently thank God for the U.S.A. and for the wonderful freedoms we still enjoy! Maybe your eyes will fill with tears. I know mine will.

The End

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Some of my blogs along with extra stories are now available in three books on Amazon:

Backroad Ramblings Volume One: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter

Backroad Ramblings Volume Two: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter

Backroad Ramblings Volume Three: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter.

All seven of my books are available at amazon.com/author/donnapoole