The Dead Teach the Living
When we think of cemeteries, we usually think of it as a sorrowful place: a place to visit briefly, mourn loved ones and then leave behind. That was how I always saw them when I was younger, until a summer’s day when during our visit I felt a calm wash over me. I realised then that cemeteries don’t have to be places of sorrow or morbidity; they can be spaces of big reflection and perspective to carry through.
Spending time in a cemetery will always carry pain and memories for mourners, but it can also feel liberating. How we view death and what follows varies from person to person, shaped by religion or spirituality. Yet one truth applies to all of us regardless of our individual beliefs: that death teaches us how to live better.
Cemeteries strip life down to its essence. Life isn’t wealth, status, or appearances. It’s time spent with the people we love, moments of joy, days with purpose and responsibility and leaving some kind of positive mark in whatever small ways. In that sense, a cemetery acts like a mirror, reflecting one of the truest things about our existence: that the life we know will end- at least in this form.
But many cultures and people are uncomfortable with discussions on death, and that discomfort robs us of the lessons these spaces could teach. Often we float through life ignorantly and blissfully unaware, as though we have all the time in the world. If we reflected more on death and thought about it before it arrived, we might approach life and people differently.
Of course, no matter how much we talk about death, nothing can fully prepare us. It will likely always feel like a pile of bricks crashing down. But if we could discuss it more openly maybe we would all feel less dread and fear, perhaps it would change, even in small ways, what we give importance to. I’ve always found it ironic to see people weep deeply for those they barely made time for in life. Death is not new; it is inevitable. And yet, we rarely let that truth shape our actions while we’re alive.
Our culture clings tightly to control; endless promises of a longer life, the next health craze, the latest ways to delay death. None of us want less time; myself included and I would always fight tooth and nail to prolong the lives of my nearest & dearest. But in the pursuit of living longer, are we living better? And how do we define better? Are we living more meaningfully, joyfully and aligned with what truly matters, or are we just lengthening life with more clutter and noise?
Living better doesn’t mean living bigger. A good life can be large or small and what it ultimately comes down to is following our hearts, focusing on what we truly value and freeing ourselves from the pressures, opinions and timelines of others. That is the essence of a life well lived. That we lived with purpose, with meaning and with our heart.
In a book I read called All That Remains: A Life in Death, Sue Black, who works with death daily as a forensic anthropologist, writes words I return to often and I thought I’d share a few of hers I liked here:
“While life expectancy is variable, death expectancy remains unchanged.”
“Mortui vivos docent: the dead teach the living.”
“Since there is no way we can ultimately prevent it, perhaps our time would be better spent focusing on improving and savouring the period between our birth and our death.”
“Maybe death is not the demon we fear… Perhaps the answer is that we don’t trust her, because we don’t choose to get to know her.”
I love how Sue personifies death, it makes “her” feel less like a terrifying unknown. Sue’ words bring me back to my original point: that cemeteries don’t have to be morbid, and thinking about death doesn’t have to be morbid. In fact, perhaps we should all reflect on it more often.
The world is full of distractions, especially now. Standing in a cemetery and looking at all the gravestones, imagining all the stories of those who rest in peace there, it shifts perspective. It shifted mine. All the things we cling to, all the appearances we try to uphold, they will fade. Each of us, all our possessions, and all the people we know will be forgotten with time and while that’s bleak, it’s also freeing.
Every experience, even the painful ones, can have purpose if we choose to use it purposefully. Visiting cemeteries reminds us that the dead truly do teach the living and perhaps the purpose of death and grief is to reveal the truest parts of what it means to be alive.