I visited this old cemetery on the outskirts of Meadville, Pennsylvania. The cemetery was founded in the late 18th century during the founding of the town; circa 1788. There are gravestones around the area that were planted even before that date; so it suggests that the town was settled either by colonists or militiamen who died in conflict with Native Americans who lived in the area or with the French, who attacked the area during the French and Indian War of 1763.
The cemetery is a precursor of today's Greendale Cemetery, which is active today. The gravestones and gravesites are so old. Mostly during the late 1700s to the early to mid 1800s.
One thing I noticed, which I find symbolic and sentimental is the fact that there are no roses, there is a lack of offerings in the grave sites from their family members. Most of their family members are either dead as well; and the memory of these dead have already passed to the pages of history. Forgotten by their great-great-great grandchildren.
But even if that is so, even if they are forgotten by man, God has not. He loves them so much that every year, he allows the trees around them to bloom in spring, to sprout beautiful colors of pink, green, orange, red. Every autumn season, he allows the leaves to fall to cover and rain on the gravestones, showered in the colors of brown, red, yellow-brown. What man forgets, God continues and completes.
Visiting such old gravestones are emotional for me in a way.
Because, I am one of the typical youth who have already forgotten the names of my ancestors. I do not even know the name of my great-great-great-great grandfather, my great-great-great grand father, my great-great grandfather and their wives. Their families. Their lives. I do not even know where they are burried, where their final resting place is. In Bohol, In Leyte, or even in China.
Visiting these old gravesites in a way allows me to visit my ancestors, who all have gone to their eternal rest. It saddens my heart to know that I will never know their names, where they are located, but I find solace and some kind of comfort in the fact that I will someday see them again. God willing, it won't be for ages to come.
Dearest great-great-great-great Lolo, of my maternal and paternal side, who where you? Where did you live? How did you eat like? How was life like? How did you sound like..?
How did you look like?Linkback:
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