“That sounds kinda sad,” My friend’s mouth twisted.
I had just told her that I was going to be participating in a cemetery field school. I got her reaction- death is a lot. But sadness wasn’t top of my mind in July 2023.
I was incredibly fortunate last summer to do the Heritage and Historical Archaeology Field school in Victoria’s historic Jewish cemetery.
The cemetery was founded in 1860. And, it’s is still very much used by the community today- So our work was about real humans- a whole community- both the living and the dead.
It’s a privilege.
A large part of our work was recording graves. Documentation is super important- no stone lasts forever. But, digital records preserve the info they contain for generations to come. It also lets us asses damage to the stones, and make decisions around conservation.
By the end of our month in the cemetery, I felt connected- not only to my classmates, but to the individuals buried within the cemetery. The rich stories from local historian, Amber Woods, also lended colour to the lives of the deceased. So that, for a while, we may come to know them, too.
Nowadays, I stay involved in the cemetery with some good o’l fashioned grave cleanings.
Using some elbow grease to clean granite gravestones Source: jewishcemeteryofvictoriabc.ca
Scrub buckets in hand, a team of us- community members, classmates and Dr. McGuire- get to work.
Amber graciously shared (amazing) baked goods before we started- a moment for the living outside the cemetery walls.
Cleaning graves is intimate- And to me, a sacred practice.
Saying the deceased’s name aloud.
Crouching low beside the grave.
Steadily removing layers of moss and lichen.
Some graves have stuck with me- especially the children. I remember the first time I saw the wee grave of Adele Meiss, who died in 1872. It hit me like a punch to the gut.
Grave of Adele Meiss, Aged 6 months
Source: jewishcemeteryofvictoria.bc.ca
Yet, 150 years later, in summer 2023, there was a stone placed on Adele’s grave- someone had visited her- probably a distant relative, the rabbi had said.
Someone remembered her.
And now, for what it’s worth, I remember her, too.
To spend time in a cemetery is to have the opportunity to lean in. Lean in to mortality. Lean in (ideally) to tiny acts of care- for the living and the dead.
So, when loss struck my family this April, I think death found me…hmm… More robust than it might have?
A smidge braver, perhaps?
More willing to sit with it. All of it.
Today, what I’m left with is the gratitude– grateful for my experiences in this sacred space, and all the humans involved.