My grandmother and great grandmother (on my father’s side) are buried in a mostly forgotten graveyard on top of a lonely mountain, in the middle of a cow pasture.
To get there you have to make your way up a precarious, single lane road until you reach the gate. From there, you must open the gate, curry favor with the livestock, and trudge through a dirt road strewn with cow patties until you reach the second set of gates at the graveyard.
I did this trek a few days ago, my first time in twenty years or so. I was shocked to see the graveyard in such an abysmal state. Headstones were broken, knocked over, breaking down. The roof of the caretakers shed had been blown off, with only concrete blocks remaining. Tree limbs and debris were scattered over the plots.
And in at least one case, a grave was completely caved in, the outside of the vault clearly visible.
I couldn’t help but think about how sad it was for all these people to be put to rest in a spot that has been neglected and largely forgotten to time. The people here deserve better, of course, but on a long enough time scale this is the inevitable outcome for any of us who are buried. Eventually, the environment will wear down your plot, or the people who took care of it will grow old and die themselves, or the land will need to be repurposed to make way for other things.
There are two ways to avoid this fate. One, opting for a more natural burial, where your body breaks down and becomes part of the environment from which new life can spring forth. Or, your body can be cremated, and the atoms that once made you can be recycled into something new. In both cases, there is a renewal and repurposing. In my mind, this is much preferable to leaving a body behind in a sealed vault to slowly wither away.
I also think it can be a bit harder for people to let go when there’s a physical reminder of you left behind. People feel obligated to come visit, to pay respects, to leave flowers or sentimental items. Or, if they miss you and desperately want to feel near you again, they can come and believe they are closer to you at your graveside.
I don’t want any of that. When it’s my time, say goodbye to me, cremate me, and then let me go. I don’t want to be a burden or an obligation, or a reminder of things long gone.
It is my belief that the secret meaning of life, as much as there is one, is to learn how to let things go.
And the culmination of a life of learning is to finally let go of yourself.