The gravestone says it all –
Dulcie, loved wife of Paul. She is
safe in arms of Jesus;
loved until hell freezes over;
mourned and missed forever.
Another could never replace
her face, her smile, her grace.
And Paul would take the space next her
when he goes. But I fear,
it being one hundred years ago,
we’ll clearly never know
if Paul moved on to hoe a new
and different field. For see,
lichen covers Dulcie’s name; dank
her space. Paul’s stays blank.
(Based on the Vietnamese luc bat form)
Awed that you could read so much into that stone!
I live near a large cemetery and am amazed at the number of old gravestones of young wives who presumably died in childbirth, and are buried with a space for her husband later, and the space was never used…
I can’t blame the young widowers for moving on with their lives, but the thought of their young wives buried next to unused graves is incredibly sad. It’s like they’re doomed to spend eternity waiting for someone who won’t be coming.
Agreed! I notice some widow gets married to a widower – and after many years of happy marriage, both get buried back with the original spouse. It not only saves money!! it seems to be a reasonable resolution.
Yet another Luc Bat that makes us pause and ponder. Evanescence of love can be as cruel as that of life.
Thanks, Uma – and you have introduced me to a new word – Evanescence!
That is one of my favorite English words.
My favourite words seem to change all the time… Today – for no reason at all, except the possible origin of the word confounds me – is locomotive.
I guess that happens with everyone–
It’s your brain’s locomotion
that tingles and burns into the spores
like droplets of some aftershave lotion
bought hastily in an airport lounge
where salesgirls waft like butterflies
in the aftermath of a delayed flight
that lingers listlessly over an ocean.
LOL – and I actually did!
I spend a lot of time in the cemetery but that’s something I’ve never noticed, how interesting. Gravestones offer so many potential stories.
I always took the names of characters in plays from cemetery graves – first and surnames mixed up of course.