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Vieraskieliset / In-english

Blog: Cemetery peace

Vieraskieliset / In-english
31.8.2021 7.00

Juttua muokattu:

20.8. 10:37

Text: Lii­sa Lil­va­nen-Pel­ko­nen

Trans­la­ti­on: Sirk­ka-Lii­sa Lei­no­nen

This past sum­mer I spent a lot of time at Toi­ja­la ce­me­te­ry, be­cau­se my mot­her is no lon­ger ab­le to take care of our re­la­ti­ves’ gra­ves. For many ye­ars al­re­a­dy I have plan­ted flo­wers on the gra­ves in Toi­ja­la and al­so on my grand­pa­rents’ gra­ves in Lem­pää­lä and my sis­ter’s grave in Ur­ja­la. My mot­her, ho­we­ver, has been res­pon­sib­le for wa­te­ring the flo­wers on the ne­ar­by gra­ves. Fin­nish sum­mers are of­ten so rai­ny that wa­te­ring has not been a ma­jor task.

The hot sum­mer we had this ye­ar, ho­we­ver, cau­sed a lot more traf­fic at the ce­me­te­ry. I went to wa­ter the flo­wers eve­ry se­cond eve­ning, and I of­ten sta­yed and sat on a bench for a mo­ment to ad­mi­re the be­au­ty of the gra­vey­ard. The warm we­at­her al­so re­min­ded me of the two springs and sum­mers that I wor­ked at a ce­me­te­ry. One of those sum­mers was very warm, and I spent most of my wor­king hours car­rying wa­te­ring cans. My arms went so numb that I had to hang them down by the side of the bed when trying to fall as­leep in the eve­ning. There were no wa­te­ring ho­ses avai­lab­le, and we the­re­fo­re had to car­ry around wa­te­ring cans to save the poor flo­wers that nod­ded their he­ads in the heat. Yet I lo­ved my job. I es­pe­ci­al­ly li­ked to work on new gra­ves. My work­ma­tes cal­led me “grave ar­tist”, sa­ying that I made the gra­ves look so tidy and ar­tis­ti­cal­ly nice. Ma­y­be they on­ly wan­ted to be friend­ly to a new wor­ker.

I had ne­ver re­a­li­zed be­fo­re that many pe­op­le come to the ce­me­te­ry dai­ly. Now that I my­self went there of­ten, I ten­ded to see the same pe­op­le of­ten vi­si­ting the ne­ar­by gra­ves. Some of them see­med busy and ten­ded to their flo­wers quick­ly, while some ot­hers had time to walk around or stop and sit down. I think that eve­ry vi­si­tor has a right to spend pri­va­te time with their lo­ved ones who have pas­sed away. I the­re­fo­re avoid con­tact with unk­nown pe­op­le, be­cau­se I can­not know how they feel about their vi­sit at the grave. It would be em­bar­ras­sing to smile bright­ly to a per­son who feels very sad. But when I meet pe­op­le I know, we can free­ly talk the way we would talk anyw­he­re el­se.

I have li­ved in the same lo­ca­li­ty for more than 50 ye­ars, and I the­re­fo­re know many of the pe­op­le bu­ried in the lo­cal gra­vey­ard. There are fa­mi­li­ar in­di­vi­du­als and whole fa­mi­lies, a few of my old te­ac­hers, but for­tu­na­te­ly no stu­dents of mine yet. I have so­me­ti­mes even been ab­le to tell a vi­si­tor where to find the grave they were loo­king for.

I en­joy the tran­qui­li­ty of ce­me­te­ries. I feel good vi­si­ting the gra­ves of my fat­her and step-fat­her, be­cau­se they were be­lie­vers. I know they are res­ting and wai­ting for the mor­ning of re­sur­rec­ti­on and their des­ti­na­ti­on in the he­a­ven­ly home. Some ot­her be­lie­vers have al­so been bu­ried in our lo­cal ce­me­te­ry, but there are not many of them. I do not feel par­ti­cu­lar­ly sad about that when wal­king around the ce­me­te­ry, and I do not think I would even need to feel sad.

Ma­y­be my vi­sits to the ce­me­te­ry this past sum­mer have al­so been pre­pa­ring me for the fu­tu­re pas­sing of my el­der­ly mot­her. Ten­ding to a grave will pro­bab­ly have a comp­le­te­ly dif­fe­rent me­a­ning when I vi­sit the res­ting place of the per­son clo­sest and de­a­rest to me. Still, I am sure that even when that hap­pens, the mo­men­ta­ry sad­ness will turn in­to joy when I re­mem­ber that the we­a­ry tra­ve­ler has been ab­le to put down her tra­ve­ling staff.


Hän loistaa valona, hän säteilee kirkkautta, hohde verhoaa hänen suuren voimansa. Hab. 3:4

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