Hear me out.
The first time my husband and I said the word "marriage" in our relationship, we were in a cemetery. Eating chips and salsa. It just made sense.
After a really bad breakup, I wandered to the local cemetery one night and read the headstones and somehow felt okay. I was still kind of falling apart, but I was connected to something. Someone. They may be dead, but I can always tell they're there, making sure nobody steals the Memorial Day flowers off their graves (that's what my resident ghost duties are going to be, I think). And just like that scene in Dead Poets Society, they were whispering to me...carpe diem. Or more likely (and less romantically), they were saying get your life together. This boy is no good for you. Run far away. Which is basically the same thing.
I've had really honest conversations in cemeteries, with myself and with others (living people). I think I've figured it out. A cemetery is a kind of bridge between death and resurrection. So it would make sense that old ideas I had about myself died there with a kind of clarity only reserved for spiritual moments. And I can almost always feel it, that fist bump of solidarity from beyond the wall (door?) separating us and them, and they're saying it's okay to let go and be reborn a little.
Just a little though. I can only take so much rebirth.
*wink emoji*
photos from Scotland, one of my favorite haunted places (cemeteries and old buildings everywhere!)
