Along the old railroad path pictured in the last post were a few headstones. They were out in the middle of the woods not too far off the path. The woods is private property now and most of it is fenced off. Normally no one would ever see the graves as the leaves would conceal them. But since the leaves are long gone the headstones could be seen. They are a little hard to read but they listed three people:
An infant that died when it was delivered on October 23, 1836
Isabella Sedwick who died March 10, 1848 at the age of 7
and Marion Sedwick who died January 8, 1850 at the age of 15.
I have no idea who the people were, what they did, why the died or why they are buried in a woods and forgotten. But at least they are remembered here. Another note about this is that a friend of mine drove past here late one night and saw a little girl in an old dress running through the field across the road. Maybe it was Isabella.
Today it arrived, 8 years 5 months & 5 days. I guess I always assumed that the headstone would make it hurt more. Finalize things. The truth of it though, it brought some much needed, long overdue peace.
I’m not sure how to explain it in words. I never questioned when his parents would have it or what would be on it. The realization of it all came on my birthday. Then I was shown the rough draft and cried. Cried because of the meaning. The existence behind something that had been missing.
Momma Lynch text me today saying it had arrived, and with the text she sent pictures. I cried. I couldn’t breathe. Not from sadness but from the overwhelming feeling of comfort. Obviously I finished what I was in the middle of doing and headed to the cemetery. It was more beautiful in person. Artistically amazing, just as he was. The two circles on the bottom corners are medals that his family was given after donating to save others. ❤ The back, among other items, holds two beautiful pieces left longer than any life or memory. The top left corner holds my exact turtle tattoo. His mom says when he left he took a part of me. The bottom right corner says 'Love, Jordan', my most favorite thing ever. It's traced so it's his handwriting. Signed almost to insinuate this is the end.
His parents and brother did an amazing job putting something together that no family should have to do for a child or younger sibling.
I love you guys to the moon & back and I'm more than certain he wouldn't change a thing on it if given the opportunity.
40,000 Americans die yearly by suicide, making it the 10th leading cause of death. Every 13.3 seconds someone takes their own life, leaving those who love them to live in a whirlwind of confusion, depression and a life without closure.
Not sure why, but when things get hard, really really hard, I go here. The cemetery. Jordan was buried here 8 years ago. I wouldn’t say I ‘feel’ him here so I’m not sure why this is where I run. Its peaceful, quiet & soothing. After he first passed I would spend almost every night out here. A few times I feel asleep, crying for him. Willing to give anything to have him back. Today was a very hard day. Flooded with emotions & tears. Mostly because I miss him & his loyalty. His friendship & his love. His security. Feeling broken, leaving my heart buried.
I love this road. The secluded location of it is comforting. Its not a named road, rather a numbered road followed with a direction, east or west. It winds just as curvy as the creek its paved next to. An old private cemetery sits atop a hill with a single tree that watches the sun set on the back of the headstones.
Graveyards are interesting places. Of course they can be full of stories and myths, and inspiration for stories and myths. Countless people have talked and written about them in countless ways. They always work nicely for photos too. As I drove to Danville, I remembered there was a graveyard that I had been wanting to shoot for some time. So I stopped by and shot there for a while as the sun slowly descended behind me. While I was there I only thought about the photos I was trying to get. But as I write this I start to think about the actual graveyard. All the headstones, trying to hold memories of the people that are buried beneath them. Each stone, carved with a name, trying to hold the memory of that person here on Earth. Trying desperately to not allow them to be forgotten. But how many of those people are forgotten? Think of all the people that have lived and died. Eventually they will be forgotten. No one will remember them. All that’s left is a name and date. And even the stone is temporary. They only prolong the inevitable oblivion. Here are two stones, two monuments. Old. The names worn off. No one to remember the two buried beneath.