Grave Matters

“Epitaph” literally means “over a tomb,” and if nothing else, reading them does tend to give us pause. Some of them were unintentionally funny:

She lived with her husband fifty years
And died in the confident hope of a better life

Here lies Peter Montgomery,
who was accidentally shot in his thirtieth year.
This monument was erected by grateful relatives.

Here lies the body of the Reverend T, Henry, M.A.,
who long labored as a Christian missionary amongst the Rajputs.
He was shot by his houseboy.
At the bottom, it read:
“Well done, good and faithful servant.”

A famous musical composer, it is said, had the following inscribed as his epitaph:

He has gone to the only place
Where his own works are excelled

And then there was pyrotechnics manufacturer who apparently had led a less than saintly life, and his read:

Erected by his spouse, to the memory of
A.B., maker of fireworks.
He has gone to the only place where
His own works are excelled.

A cemetery in Indiana has a century old tombstone with this inscription:

Pause, stranger, when you pass me by:
As you are now, so once was I.
As I am now, so you will be.
So prepare for death and follow me.

Someone came along and scratched a post-script on the bottom:

To follow you I’m not content,
Until I know which way you went.

As far as I know, every culture, in every place in the world, during every period of history, has held out hope of life beyond this one. The sentiments expressed by the epitaphs are one indication, of course, but the fact that they felt a need to even put up some sort of monument in the first place is also significant. What does that say but life must have had a meaning, and that meaning must go beyond the brief length of years spent upon this earth?

I’ve always liked this one:

Here I take my final rest
Beneath this tombstone wall.
Say that I tried my best and
Was your friend, that’s all.