Memento Mori

Cemeteries are not usually very entertaining. I have been to my fair share of graveside services for folks I knew and loved over the years, and I readily acknowledge the solemnity of these places of remembrance. When we lived in Massachusetts in the 1970s, making grave rubbings was all the rage, and teenaged me visited churchyards in Boston, Concord, Plymouth, etc. to gather rubbings of epitaphs engraved on stone. There were prominent people and families galore in my collection, from Thoreau to Emerson to Alcott. There were also the heart-tugging memorials to deceased babies and children (SO many too many of those).

In my own family, we’re more fans of cremation than burial, so very few tombstones for us. However, my sister Maureen is buried at Arlington Cemetery in Atlanta, GA. When she was killed in 1981 at age 23, there was no hesitation about her marker. Mo was devoted to Saint Therese (the “Little Flower” of Jesus), whose feast day (October 1) was the same day as Maureen’s death—and Therese was Mo’s age! Hence the inscription: “Our Beautiful Little Flower” marking the spot where my sister was laid to rest. I go there whenever I return to Georgia, and am comforted by the lovely site, on a hill by a pond, with tall Georgia pine trees all around. And the fact that the entire hillside, once rather bare, is now totally covered in graves, is mute testament to the large number of people who have left this earth over the years.

Gone, for the most part, are the days when families habitually brought flowers to Granny and Gramps at Meadowview Cemetery on Sunday afternoons. We 21^st century denizens HATE to be reminded that we will die at some point, and besides, Sunday afternoons are for football on TV, right?

I am personally torn, as I reckon with my mortality. I would much rather be cremated/donated to science than placed in a casket and buried six feet under. Yet, there is definitely an urge to have some sort of permanent memorial for posterity—you know, a sacred space where my children can feel sufficiently guilty over NOT visiting.

My solution? A website with a virtual tombstone! Not sure if I just invented these, or if they are already a thing, but what a cool concept! Meeting my descendants where they are, which is onscreen! And this way I can program a changeable series of snappy sayings too! Imagine my busy, but bereft, kiddos, grabbing their phones to play Candy Crush—but first they pop over to momsrestingplace.com, curious to see what witty/sentimental inscription is posted today! In less than two minutes I am remembered, often with a chuckle, with no need to make any effort, or travel anywhere at all!

Kicking around a few ideas for online epitaphs:

ELISE SEYFRIED (1956-20__?)

HAVE AS HAPPY A DAY AS POSSIBLE, CONSIDERING I’M DEAD!

HERE LIES THE WORLD’S GREATEST MOM--THIS IS MY REWARD?

SORRY/NOT SORRY YOU’RE SO SAD!

Your suggestions welcome!