Last Saturday was our last day of our mini-spring week of good weather. I was able to get my dog, Dock outside for a nice long walk. Usually, we take the same route up and down Broadway Street in Granville, but we decided to take a detour.
I have passed the old graveyard on Main Street in the village many times by car and by bicycle. Today we took a stroll among the headstones. Officially it is called the Old Colony Burying Grounds. By reading the historical plaque there I found out that the Village of Granville was first inhabited by people from Granville, Massachusetts.
The first person buried there was an infant in 1806. Within its tiny plot of land there are eighteen veterans of the Revolutionary War, thirty-nine from the War of 1812 and sixteen from the Civil War as well as early residents.
Many of the headstones are worn down by time and hard to read. Some have been refurbished or replaced. In addition to the soldiers, I saw many graves of young people, from infants to men and women in their twenties, all passing away in the nineteenth century.
I also learned that a pharmacist named Charles Webster Bryant in 1886 took it upon himself to carefully examine each headstone and record all the names, dates and epitaphs, as many were already worn down by then. You can still examine his records in a little kiosk at the cemetery. Ironically, Mr. Bryant died only two months after completing this task.
For my dog and me, our easily paced meandering among old and faded stones was a way to pass a pleasant hour on a sunny day in February. Not knowing any of the people buried beneath my feet I hardly connected their names to the fact that their actual mortal remains lay under the grass.
On that same day, at St. Edward the Confessor Church just down the road two young ladies, sisters, had their funeral, the result of a tragic automobile accident the weekend before. I did not know them, but they were both graduates of Newark Catholic High School. I am sure that the service was an emotional service. Both women had long lives ahead of them cut short by a driver of another car crossing the center line.
When this thought came to me, I stopped and offered a prayer for them and their family. Then it occurred to me that every person laid to rest underneath my feet, from the first infant to Mr. Bryant, were similarly mourned by loved ones. No matter the cause of death, the passing of our loved ones is a sad affair.
In time, the relatives of the men and women buried at the Old Colony Grounds passed away as well. For some of the oldest burials, many generations of mourners have, in time, been the ones mourned.
My father passed away five years after my mother. He was a man of deep faith but in his times of doubt he would ask, “Will I see your mother again?” In time, the memories that my siblings and I have for our wonderful parents will pass when we do. My grandchildren will know their names, and will have pictures of them, perhaps a piece of memorabilia. Their grandchildren will know even less. They may take an historical visit to St. Joseph Cemetery to learn the names and dates of their ancestors, but they won’t know my mom’s favorite saying, “It is what it is,” or the way my dad could tell a joke.
This is where our faith comes in to give us comfort. I have no doubt that my mother and father are reunited in death and that one day, I will be reunited with them. Perhaps I will meet my ancestors as well or residents of the graveyard in Granville. Death has an immediate sting for those who survive. Eternity with God is truly forever.
Jim Silcott