Memories of Bosnia
Throughout the course of my life, I have had opportunities to explore various cemeteries in diverse regions, each one with its own distinctive rituals and customs. As I contemplate the past, I first go back to my childhood years spent in Bosnia. Although I personally didn't have the opportunity to witness the burial practices of Muslims directly, I gained insight into the experience through my brother's account. He shared his observations from a vantage point on a nearby hill, where the cemetery was situated. He frequently ventured there alone, and it was purely by chance that he stumbled upon the burial. The passage of time did not diminish its impact; instead, his memory endured, resurfacing in a recent conversation he had with me. The burial process involved wrapping the departed individual in a white sheet known as the kafan. This practice is based on the Islamic belief in the equality of all individuals in death, as well as the idea of simplicity and humility before the Creator. At that time, my brother was too young to comprehend the meaning of this ritual. However, the weight of the emotional energy lingered within him.
As I grew older, I got the chance to visit Muslim cemeteries. These places had a simple and humble atmosphere. There were no extravagant tombstones or decorations. It was part of their tradition not to put flowers, candles, or anything else on or around the graves. This showed respect for the people who had passed away.
Lost in Time
During my early years in Foča, Bosnia, I had a thrilling experience to tell. It is about me and my friends exploring the wild landscapes near the Drina River. As we ventured around, we unexpectedly discovered remnants of the past hidden in the worn-out terrain. Among the crumbled earth and exposed cracks, we saw forgotten relics. Time had preserved them carefully, including human bones from long ago. Looking back now, I recall the vivid memories of that time. It is remarkable that this memory remained hidden until this very moment when I write about it and bring it back to life.
Transporting myself through a time portal to the early 1960s, when this event occurred, I experienced a curious mix of excitement and seriousness as I faced the old human bones. They made me intrigued about the lives of people who lived long ago. How did they end up in this place by the Drina River? In those moments, I wasn't afraid at all. I was just a kid, around 7 or 8 years old, lost in my imagination. I was daydreaming about what it would be like to die and rest forever in that place.
I felt safe in a small cave on the hillside, hidden away from the world, which allowed me to let my mind wander freely. I didn't think about the dangers around me. It was a fun pretend game. I imagined myself as a grave explorer, going on daring adventures to find hidden treasures and forgotten artifacts.
A Historic Oasis of Beauty and Reflection
Fast forward many years later, soon after settling in Providence, Rhode Island, I discovered Swan Point Cemetery. It is a beautiful burial ground that was established in 1846. The cemetery is located next to Butler Hospital, where I worked. It is a special place because it is one of the first garden cemeteries ever created and recognized as a historic site on the National Register.
When I first entered Swan Point Cemetery, I was immediately taken on a journey through time. The cemetery has monuments, buildings, and gravesites that showed me the lives and legacies of important people from the mid-1800s onwards. As I walked along the well-maintained paths, I saw the final resting places of statesmen, philanthropists, artists, and other notable figures who shaped Rhode Island's history.
I was amazed by the combination of nature and human creativity. The gardens in the cemetery were full of colorful flowers and plants, creating a breathtaking atmosphere. The beauty and tranquility of this place were made even better by the sounds of the nearby Seekonk River. I found peace and calm within its 200 acres. When I needed a break from the busyness of life or wanted to reflect on the mysteries of death, I would go there.
Tears and Acceptance
Nestled within this beautiful and peaceful cemetery, surrounded by lush greenery, I saw an old stone bed covered in fresh moss. It stood as a symbol, silently witnessing the ups and downs of life. Standing there I felt a deep emptiness that seemed to connect with the very essence of existence. The old stone bed was proof of the passage of time. A strong feeling of realization came to me, bringing tears to my eyes. These tears were not of sadness but of acceptance. I embraced the truth of life's transience and the interconnectedness of all living things. I found the wisdom of impermanence that allowed me to focus on each passing moment.
And so, with tears of acceptance and gratitude, I stood there, embraced by the cemetery's tranquility, witnessing the ever-changing seasons of life. I found comfort in knowing that even in emptiness, life flourishes, memories endure, and the cycle of existence continues its eternal rhythm.
Tales from the Tombstones
I'm really interested in old cemeteries. I love history and I feel a strong desire to connect with the past. Rhode Island has a rich history dating back to the colonial era, and many early settlers and prominent figures from that time are buried in various cemeteries throughout the state. Over the centuries, many of these burial grounds were neglected, abandoned, or lost to time. While exploring the area, I found some forgotten burial sites from a long time ago. During the summer when everything was growing, I went on exploring these abandoned sites. The wild plants were taking over the old grave markers as if nature itself wanted to preserve the memories of the people buried there. The names on the weathered stones and the realization of how long ago these people lived filled me with awe. But I also felt sadness when I found out that many family members had suffered the same fate. They were probably victims of terrible diseases that had affected their lives like unstoppable storms.
The Harsh Realities of the New World
In the past, life was not easy. People had a hard time finding enough food and had to live in small and uncomfortable places. It was a constant struggle just to survive and meet their basic needs. They faced many difficulties, from famine, diseases, religious persecution, and the horrors of war in their home countries. To escape all these problems, lots of people took dangerous trips across the Atlantic Ocean, hoping to find a better life in the New World.
Sadly, not everyone who went to this faraway land survived. Some died in dangerous storms during their voyage. Others, when they arrived at the hopeful shores, faced a harsh reality they couldn’t adjust to. In a lost cemetery, I stood as a protector of their memories, giving a moment to remember those who dared to risk everything for the hope of a better life.
As I thought about the first people who came to America and faced many dangers to survive, I saw some parallels with my own decision to move here and change my life. Unlike those early settlers, I wasn't running away from immediate danger, but instead looking for a better future for myself and my family. I was determined to work hard and take a chance because I believed it was my destiny.
Getting ready for the journey meant making big sacrifices. I used up all my money, knowing that I couldn't predict what would happen when I arrived in the new country. Still, I stayed positive. I had hope, determination, and a strong belief in my abilities.
Luckily, my family and I were fortunate. We had the help of good friends who supported and guided us when we first arrived. Plus, having access to modern conveniences made it easier for us to adapt and focus on finding success. And it wasn't just our close friends who helped us. The larger community of Fargo, North Dakota welcomed us and provided an environment where we could grow and thrive.
Back at the burial ground of the lost cemetery, I was transported into the distant past, traversing the realms of imagination to catch glimpses of colonial life. As I immersed myself in visualization, I witnessed the pervasive influence of death, as its extensive shadow fell upon every facet of existence, touching everyone without exception. Echoes of the past spoke to me, weaving a tapestry of the fragile way of living that slipped through one's fingers all too easily.
Silent adversaries like influenza, scarlet fever, and smallpox roamed the streets like ghosts in the night spreading their harmful influence. These unseen foes caused havoc, engulfing communities and leaving sorrow in their wake.
Yet, amidst the despair, a glimmer of hope emerged. People, irrespective of their differences, found solace in one another's embrace, extending a hand of compassion to those in need. The strength of those past days still echoes, reminding me that we have resilience within us, no matter where life takes us. When confronted with overwhelming adversity, the essence of our humanity rises to the surface. Communities heal together, hand in hand. The struggles of the colonial era, recorded in history, taught me that unity and strength are our inherent rights because we are survivors, carrying the flame of hope through time.
Remnants of Conflict
During my explorations, a different kind of cemetery unveiled itself on the land of Fort Abraham Lincoln State Park in Bismarck, North Dakota. This place was ground zero for General Casper. It was his command center from 1873 until 1876. The starting point of his forays to the Indian territory and the launching pad for his strategic campaigns against the native tribes.
The weathered tombstones spoke volumes about the hardships endured in those days. Freezing temperatures, infections, gunshot wounds, and various other illnesses and injuries wove tales of these men. Following the Battle of the Little Bighorn, the steamboat known as Far West carried the fallen soldiers back to Fort Abraham Lincoln, becoming a somber vessel that symbolized the grave consequences of armed conflicts.
Custer's Last Stand
The pages of history tell the story of a big fight that happened in June 1876, leaving a lasting collective memory. It was the Battle of Little Bighorn between the United States soldiers and the Lakota people. In the dark of night, General Custer went into Indian Territory with 200 men, determined to confront the Indians directly. On the wide plains of Montana, the well-known Lakota Chief Sitting Bull bravely stood his ground. During the fight, thousands of Sioux warriors overwhelmed Custer and his soldiers killing them all. This event, known as "Custer's Last Stand," caused a lot of anger, propelling the government to wage a ruthless campaign against Native American tribes.
The repercussions were severe, as countless Indigenous people were forcibly uprooted from their ancestral lands, burdened with the losses of many loved ones and the weight of shattered lives. While some might view Custer through the distorted lens of a fallen hero, the stains of his legacy are clearly visible, marked by the atrocities committed against peaceful villagers. In the light of present times, he would be deemed a war criminal.
The Toll of War
When I reflect upon the Battle of Little Bighorn, my thoughts extend beyond the individuals engaged in that fateful conflict and encompass the impact it had on countless lives, forever altering the course of history. It is impossible to fully grasp the depth of devastation that swept through the land, leaving fractured families and casting communities into the depths of grief. The echoes of that tragic event reverberate through time, serving as a reminder of the dire consequences of war conflict.
In the presence of those graves within the cemetery at Fort Lincoln Park, we are all confronted with an undeniable truth—war exacts an immense toll, not only on lives lost but also on emotional and psychological wounds inflicted upon survivors. The cemetery serves as a tangible connection to human suffering, directing us to strive for peace and seek understanding, so that the echoes of sorrow and anger may fade and be replaced by the harmonious melodies of compassion and unity.
Voices from the Grave
Now, I will steer the narrative towards a more recent chapter in my life, set in the realm of Arizona time. Twice a year, the picturesque town of Sedona hosted an intriguing event called "Voices from the Grave." Held in the open-air cemetery, this gathering had a special purpose: to pay tribute to the original pioneers laid to rest there.
My wife and I were fortunate enough to witness this captivating spectacle in Sedona's cemetery. It was a performance that truly brought the stories and legacies of the departed souls to life. Talented actors stepped into the shoes of these historical figures, skillfully guiding us through their lives and allowing us to appreciate their contributions. Through these reenactments, the cemetery gained depth and richness, while simultaneously honoring those interred within its grounds.
In this unique project, the vibrant history of Sedona was vividly portrayed by actors who embodied specific individuals pivotal in shaping the community. Transported to a different time, we caught a glimpse of a humble Sedona that existed long before it became a tourist hot spot—a place where diligent residents toiled on the land or nurtured peach orchards.
As we watched the reenactments unfold, we were struck by how these individuals came alive. Each portrayal by the actors resurrected forgotten narratives, ensuring that the buried pioneers would be remembered and appreciated. It was a testament to the enduring power of storytelling.
This cemetery experience in Sedona taught us that history transcends mere dates and facts. It is a living, breathing force that shapes our present and future. By immersing ourselves in the lives of those who came before us, we gained a better understanding of our place within the flow of time.
Serbia’s Cemeteries
During my visit to Serbia in May of this year, I had a deeply personal experience with cemeteries. I was filled with emotions and reflection, as my closest family members were laid to rest in two different locations. Belgrade became the final resting place for my parents, while my maternal grandmother was buried in Pančevo.
My first stop was at my grandmother's grave in Pančevo, a place I hadn't visited since her funeral in 1986. Accompanied by my brother, we went to pay our respects to the memory of her. As we approached the cemetery, my brother's emotions were heightened, and he was visibly moved by the occasion. On the other hand, I found myself in a more contemplative state, taking in the surroundings and absorbing the atmosphere.
My grandmother's burial site was situated in the old Catholic cemetery, a place steeped in history that dated back to the time of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. Until 1918, Pančevo was a part of it. Walking among the graves, I felt the weight of time and the stories of people whose remains were buried beneath the ground. The silence of the cemetery in Pančevo created a stark contrast to the bustling activity I would later encounter in the new cemetery in Belgrade.
The burial ground in Belgrade represented a newer tradition with the prevalent practice of cremation. This modern approach to honoring the deceased juxtaposed starkly with the antiquity of the Catholic cemetery. The vibrant energy and sheer number of people in the cemetery were evidence of a well-run business. Vendors lined the paths, offering candles, flowers, and various items to adorn the graves. It was intriguing to witness this blend of solemnity and commerce, as people sought to memorialize their loved ones.
This moving experience at the cemeteries compelled me to go deeper into my thoughts and reflections on the family members who hold a special place in my heart, those who have departed from this world. It served as a stimulant for me to continue writing this book, a tribute to their lives and the legacies they left behind. Also, it was a way for me to navigate the grieving process, especially in light of the recent loss of my mother.
As I continued my journey of remembering and reflecting, I realized the importance of honoring our loved ones who have passed away. Visiting cemeteries went beyond just showing respect. It became a source of inspiration for me, igniting a desire to preserve and protect the memories and stories that make up my family's history. In this book, I dedicate numerous accounts to keeping their lives alive.
This meaningful task brings about intense emotions and takes me to unexplored domains of my feelings and spirituality. It's an exploration that goes beyond what I can touch, uncovering my heritage and awakening a deep connection with my ancestors.
The process of documenting their lives becomes a labor of love, weaving together personal memories, stories, and historical research. The memories shared by other family members, old photographs, and fragments of forgotten letters and diaries all come together. With every word I write, I feel a strong sense of responsibility to capture the essence of the family member I write about. Their successes and struggles, their joys and sorrows become a part of me, going beyond time and space. The cemetery visits, once seen as sad occasions, now reveal themselves as places of transformation, guiding me toward a better understanding of my own identity and where I fit in the world.
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