gravesaide reflection.

The other day I took a trip to the cemetery for a class field trip. At first i didn't really understand how this would be useful to me. I read Whitman's poem and thought that it was just another well crafted string of metaphor and alliteration. But once i began to read his words outloud, surrounded by the sleeping souls of those who had passed, I saw his words in a completely different light.

A few years ago I went to my own grandfather's funeral. I remember thinking about him, in all my twisted memories of who he was and wondering if he could look down on me, and see me, and if he could, would he be proud of the man he left behind? Would he see all the ways he impacted my life? When i was standing there reading Whitman's words about our dark mother, i couldn't help but think of my grandfather, and how i wish that i could of seen death creep towards him, But would the realization of when he would die spare me the pain of that loss? The eulogy was given, and although he was a Christian i couldn't help but feel a pain, almost a loss of hope.

The thought of death always brings such terrifying finality. Reading Whitman at the graveside reminded me that even the best written word, or cleverly crafted speech, would never truly comfort someone dealing with death. All we can do is cover the coffin with flowers and tears and reach out to God even when we don't feel him there.

Death's song is a station that we all hope to avoid, but a station that we all scan pass, hoping that we never have to listen to it's melody.