CEMETERY  STORIES

The title of my homily is, “Cemetery Stories.”

It’s All Soul’s Day.

It used to be a custom - that folks would visit cemeteries on All Soul’s Day.

People didn’t have to travel that far - way back then - way back when -  so folks were buried in local cemeteries - often church cemeteries.

We’ve all been there - to cemeteries. 

We’ve all experienced the death of loved ones.

Drive down any road, we’ll see cemeteries.

Go into any mind. There are the different lobes - the hills of our brain. There are the memories  - the  tomb stones in our memories.  And those tomb stones trigger stories of those who have gone before us  - buried. 

Moments at grave stones …. Memories …. Memorials….

The question of this homily is: What are your cemetery stories?

What stories are triggered by just going by a cemetery or visiting a cemetery.

I hold that death cards are like  cemetery stones.  I hold that many a person has a small prayer book with death cards in it. It’s like a portable cemetery and some people visit their dead every day.

A change is coming with these flyers with pictures you are handed or you pick up at funerals.

What are your cemetery stories?

Here are a few in my collection. I repeat them so as to trigger your cemetery stories in your collection.

Share them with each other.

Listen to each other.

I think of the opening scene of Doctor Zhivago - where a little boy is standing with a crowd - at a burial of a loved one - and that’s how he begins his autobiography.

I think of going up on an elevator to the 4^th floor of an apartment house size mausoleum at St. John’s Cemetery in Middle Village, Queens, N.Y.  for the burial of the first serious death in our family: my dad: June 26,  1970. He’s buried in a vault up near the ceiling - and I remember hesitating with the burial prayer. It said we consign the body of the deceased to the ground.  It felt funny saying, “into the wall.” Yes - someone put a deck of cards in his casket. In time, mom was once more next to him - also with a deck of cards and a rosary. She was killed in a hit and run accident on April 7, 1987.

I think of my nephew Michael - buried  in Staten Island, N.Y. The first cemetery and grave spot he was in, got flooded too often, so his mom and dad had the body moved to Resurrection Cemetery. Now his dad is buried there too - along with other family members and friends.

I think of our cemetery at our old major seminary: Mount St. Alphonsus Cemetery, Esopus, New York - where many Redemptorist Brothers and Priests are buried. I lived there 14 years of my life. When I had the job of Novice Master, each November we would go out to that cemetery and  we would say prayers for Redemptorists buried there. In old manuscripts          we were able to find poems from of the deceased and we would read one of their poems at their grave that day.  

I remember giving a priest retreat for the priests of New Orleans and one morning I was walking outside around 7:30 going through my talk for 9 AM. A car came into the property from off the road. I spotted the driver as I walked. He was wearing black pants and a white shirt. I figured he was one of the priests making the retreat and going out for a paper. I waved to the guy, but didn’t get any response. As I was walking towards the cemetery at the place - an old school, I spotted the person’s car - parked under a trellis at the entrance to the cemetery. As I walked towards this man I saw him standing under the statue of Mary. As I got closer he put a gun to his mouth and killed himself. I ran towards him. I  blessed him - since I didn’t have the sacred oils for a final anointing. I ran into the lobby of the building where the retreat was going on. I yelled to some priests standing there, “Does anyone have the sacred  oils? A guy just killed himself in the cemetery.”  A guy went running out to his car and then headed for the cemetery and the statue of Mary to anoint the man who had just shot himself. I said I’m calling 911.   I told someone on the other end of that phone that a man just shot himself. I told the attendant where I was. When I said, “Suicide” the person on the other side said, “How do I know it was suicide?” I said, “I was just there and I saw it.” The person repeated, “But how do I know?”  I said, “Oh,   okay!” The attendant was good. He kept me on the phone till he said, “Okay we have a police car there now.” I found out later the man who killed himself wasn’t a priest. He was a former student there - but I never found out really, who he was,  and what happened. Someone said he was a 48 year old lawyer and father of 2.

I once went to my brother’s grave - Gate of Heaven Cemetery - in Silver Spring, Maryland with his best friend, Marty. It was a while since my brother’s funeral.  We stood there and prayed. After saying the Mourners’ Kaddish , Marty who is Jewish said, “Sorry I don’t believe in life after death.”  Ugh. That hurt. Well, I guess we have to die to find out. That moment strengthened my belief in life after death. I just went to Marty’s funeral - in a nearby Jewish cemetery - where he was buried with his wife - who died some two years ago or so.

I think of Luther A. Palmer Memorial  Cemetery - on a traffic island on West Street in Annapolis, Maryland - where it meets Riva Road. We did a burial there once - of a Palmer. It’s in a tough spot to park a hearse - take out the casket - put it on the grass and then move the hearse from the road. It has 77 plots. Cemeteries are sometimes in interesting places. This was quite unique - on a busy Street.

I think of a burial at St. Mary’s Cemetery here in Annapolis. The deceased had given his body for research. Then when his wife got the remains, which were now cremains. I stood there with his wife and two little sons - and we said the prayers. Before the burial of the box that contained the box of his cremains - his wife put a piece of paper in the plastic “casket”. Being nosey, I asked her what was on the paper. “It was a sonogram that I received from the doctor this morning.” She was expecting. I’ve had a lot of burials at our cemetery there - but that one is triggered every time I go by it.

This has gotten too, too long.

So my last cemetery story is from a small cemetery in Ballynahown, Ireland - where lots of our relatives are buried. My brother-in-law and two sisters were there. Our Aunt Nora walked us to the cemetery. It had an odd swinging gate - so cows couldn’t get in there. Well, evidently, there was a breach in the walls, because my sister Peggy, Sister St. Monica Costello, IHM, stepped in you know what.

Life.

Death.

What are your cemetery stories?