Mortality: On Birthdays and Cemeteries

Few things remind one of his own mortality like birthdays and cemeteries. This year we combined the two. What better way to spend a birthday than at the cemetery?

Twenty-eight is admittedly not that old. But it does bring to mind the fact that I'm only getting older. As Don reminded me yesterday, I'm a third of the way to being 84, and maybe 1/4 through my mortal life. That thought makes me want to exercise more...or at all.

Those who know me well may also know that I love cemeteries (I've blogged about this strange affinity here). I'm not gothic or emo or obsessed with morbidity. I just like cemeteries. While they can be places of deep sorrow and grief, they are also places of profound peace and hope. Whenever I stroll through a graveyard, examining headstones for surnames and dates, I imagine the scene on Resurrection Day. This is especially the case in the Salt Lake City Cemetery in the Avenues. 12 of the 15 Presidents of the Church in this dispensation were buried there, along with dozens of apostles, and thousands of righteous saints over the past 160 years.

When I read an article in the Daily Herald last week about American Fork's History and Heritage Festival to be held at the city cemetery on Aug. 3-4, I knew what my birthday plans would be.

This was the third year of the pageant. In various spots around the cemetery are placed a few rows of metal folding chairs facing a few props. At each spot, from one to ten actors would portray scenes from the lives of individuals buried in the cemetery. There were also a few craft displays, a teepee, 25 cent ice cream cones from the DUP, cherry pie, and wagon rides.

When we arrived at the cemetery there were a few dozen people, mostly gray-haired, sitting on folding chairs or walking about. By the time we left at dusk (before the live music performances--it was already past Jackson's bedtime) there were a couple hundred people there.

We learned about miners from the Scofield explosion (5th largest mine explosion in U.S. history), Mormon immigrants from Australia who were shipwrecked relatively close to BoraBora in the Pacific, and many of the handcart pioneers (there were eight handcart companies in addition to the Willey and Martin companies, but the others are rarely referenced).

One of my favorite vignettes told the experiences of Roxanna Leavitt Fletcher Huntsman Snow, a first cousin of my Great-great-great grandfather, Dudley Leavitt. They were both numbered among the 55 Leavitts who moved to Kirtland from Hatley, Lower Quebec, after joining the Church in 1837.

The "plays" included humor, history, and respect for the heritage these individuals left behind. I believe we all felt a deeper appreciation for those buried in the ground upon which we were walking, sitting, and enjoying the evening. It was a great way to spend a birthday evening. Maybe we'll do it again next year when I'll be a third of the way to age 87.