A Russian Cemetery On Red Hill

The Greek origin of the word cemetery, koimeterion, means sleeping chamber or burial place. During the peaceful state of sleep, consciousness is suspended and the body is restored. Ultimately, death can be perceived as a permanent sleep of the body and the final peace.

It is not surprising then, that a cemetery is a peaceful spot. The atmosphere is quiet and walking throughout the graves, mausoleums and tombs is refreshing. In the stillness, one can think without any distractions from the outside world. Besides, it is not the dead one needs to worry about, it is the living. The dead, unless they are vampires, rest in cemeteries, crypts, or urns: there is no need to fear them.

Various cultures have different ways of commemorating and communicating with the dead. There is the Mexican tradition of “El Dia de Los Muertos,” celebrated during the first two days of November. During these days, the spirits of the dead visit and the living commune with the living. The idea is to forget, for a day, the mysterious abyss that separates life from death.

Southerners have a tradition called “Homecoming Sunday.” They gather at cemeteries and eat lunch there, thanking those who have gone before.

Russians gather at cemeteries on the Sunday after Easter, known as the “Sunday Of Thomas” and the “Krasnaya Gorka” -- Red Hill. Red Hill is a holiday with pagan overtones that welcomes spring and is a popular day for weddings since church weddings are not performed during Great Lent. In 2011, Red Hill falls on May 1st which is also May Day and International Workers’ Day.

After church services, people travel to cemeteries to commemorate and pray for the dead, whose ranks increase steadily through the years. It is a happy prayer as “Christ is risen” is sung during the pankhida, reassuring us that life is everlasting. We walk throughout the paths lined by Russian Orthodox crosses, some made of stone, others of wood, talk and eat a bit, reflecting with tears and laughter on those that have passed on. There are those that bring vodka to the gravesites and drink to the departed and the living.

I usually trek to the cemetery with my Godmother before Easter to tidy up the graves and prepare them for the holiday. As I walk through the well worn paths, every now and again, a message crops on a tombstone that catches the eye. This one caught mine:
“Passerby stop. Once and I was like you -- once I had a lot of friends, but now, all my friends have forgotten me.”

I ruminated for a moment and then moved on.

It’s a good thing to reflect on life and death. Hopefully, life does not pass us by and we live each day as the best day with no regrets. We live on.