Can't escape the macabre feeling.

I’ve been searching for the right word to describe my feeling when I enter the Catholic cemetery in Carbonia. In Sardinia. And it came to me today. Macabre. Here’s the definition: Causing shock. Disgust. And fear. Because connected with death. Especially strange or cruel death. Yes, that’s my sense. The cemetery is a strange and eerie place. Makes me think I’d rather be cremated. Better than being buried or entombed in a Catholic cemetery, like the one in Carbonia. It’s a hodge-podge of graves. Below ground. And above ground in vaults. In drawers. With one’s name. And birth and death dates. And often color photographs of the deceased. It’s interesting walking about the cemetery. Observing. Satisfying my curiosity. But it’s downright macabre. I don’t want to be with these dead people. I want to be with the living. And when I’m gone, I wanna be gone. Off by myself. Not deposited in the likes of this place in Carbonia. My true love’s parents are entombed here. Mother died last year. Her remains are in a body-sized granite-like drawer or vault. Father died in 1977. He’s buried in the ground. Marked by a cross. With a plaque. The grave covered with rocks and stones and sea shells from Mediterranean beaches. Rather nice, in a meaningful way. But macabre. In 5 years, his remains will be dug up. And placed in a grave with his wife. Not any sooner. Because one’s body must be given time to rot. So that only the skeleton remains. That takes a certain amount of time. Yes, macabre. For me. But to each his/her own. I respect everyone’s choice. And I’ve been going to the cemetery every week, mostly on Sundays, to visit the graves. And the visits remind me to try to commune with spirits. In a very respectful way. We put fresh flowers on the graves. I look at the maize of Italian names. At the array of flowers. At the tall, majestic pine trees. At the arched entry way. At the black metal gate. At the faces of the living that have come for visits. Some still in mourning. And for the most part, I am at peace. Relaxed. But I can’t escape the macabre feeling. –Jim Broede