aagraveyardfinal“Do not lose hope – what you seek will be found. Trust ghosts. Trust those that you have helped, to help you in your turn. Trust dreams. Trust your heart and trust your story.” ~Neil Gaiman

Remember a time when graveyards and ghosts frightened you, to your core?

I do.

I remember being a little girl, filled with dread over having to make a graveyard visit, with my family. Walking over ground, strewn with patches of rectangular-shaped, disturbed earth, made me shudder. Walking past cold, cement stones that burst through the soil, bearing names and dates and sometimes messages – made me uneasy. I remember looking away, as I passed those stones. Scared of seeing a familiar name. Petrified at seeing my own. I remember walking ever so carefully around the patches of disturbed earth. If I walked directly on them, would I anger the ghosts that lived there? Would they follow me home? Haunt me beneath my bed? Tug at arms or legs that dangled outside of my protective, magical bedcovers – as I slept and possibly drag me back to the graveyard?

Holy horror.

Yes. I remember feeling confused, conflicted and frightened about graveyards and ghosts and death and goodbyes.

But, time marches on and I have made many visits to many graveyards, with each passing year. Walked many miles over ground, strewn with patches of rectangular-shaped, disturbed earth. Walked past many cold, cement stones with names and dates and messages, inscribed upon them. During those visits, my heart has shattered into a million pieces. My eyes have shed a million tears. My hands have held countless red or white or yellow or pink roses, that would soon be laid upon a wooden box, that held a precious part of my world inside.

And still, I remain confused, conflicted and frightened about death and about the goodbyes that I am unequipped to handle and unprepared to say.

However, I am no longer frightened of graveyards and ghosts. I am comforted by them.

I no longer walk carefully and fearfully around the edges of rectangular-shaped, disturbed earth. I walk lovingly around them. I no longer look away, while passing the cement stones. I now squint hard until I am able to read the words that grace them. Names and dates and messages, that speak to a life well-lived, a job well-done and a legacy of love, that hovers over the world, injecting sweetness and light into the bitterness and dark.

No. I am no longer frightened of graveyards and ghosts. I am grateful for the memories and reminders that they provide – like a treasured gift that I hold close.

I am reminded of cherished times spent, warm embraces, beautiful faces, magical voices and encouraging words that seemingly break through the clouds and wrap me in layers of love and warmth, when I need them most.

I am reminded that time on earth is swift and precious. Digging deep is required to say things that need saying, to do things that need doing and to leave an imprint of something special behind, that makes the world a brighter and better place.

I am reminded that the beautiful souls that once walked the earth, do not live imprisoned in the ground that I walk over, in the graveyard. And they do not haunt me beneath my bed, as I sleep. They live on gloriously and rapturously in a dimension, so divine, that sparks of their heaven reach the deepest parts of my heart and keep me remembering, keep me believing, keep me hoping and keep me walking this earth, until the time comes, when I will never have to walk another graveyard, never have to shed another tear, never have to lay another rose and never have to say…another goodbye.

Peace and Love,

Carole Rose


Author of Petals and Thorns - Life Lessons from the Rose Garden and Wishes and Weeds - Gifts from the Wildflower Meadow

1 Comment

  1. Sandy Orth

    I felt the same way Carole! when I was a little girl! I would avoid going there with my parents and hide in the back seat! Now that I have lost my best friend, my precious father, it took me awhile to go, unearth the dirt, plant flowers and mulch. We have his picture on his stone, next to a saint Francis statue with birds around him. I stand there, look at him, and remember where we were when we took that picture.
    The tears start flowing and I can’t breathe. I walk to the car knowing that I just left him there alone…
    He’s alone again and I leave..
    It’s a feeling I will never get over, and I hate it with all I have.
    Writing this the tears are streaming down my face.
    Why did he have to go. I wasn’t ready to live my life without my
    Best friend.
    I love you pop forever and ever ?