Cemetery Stuff: Anniversaries on The Cemetery

Today is the anniversary of my husband and I moving into our beloved cemetery home. It is more than a crumbling stone building; it is our sanctuary.

We know the very heartbeat of this place. It is very much alive.

We know every tree, every flower, every shrub.

We love the moon bathing the house in her light; illuminating row upon row of graves. We love the rabbits at sunrise in the summer, the bats that sneak in through open windows, and the starlings nesting in the eaves above the kitchen.

We love the wooden floors, the higgledy-piggledy staircases, and the metre-thick walls that turn the house into a refrigerator in the winter. We love the living room, once a storeroom for spades and headstones, and the kitchen window that casts a view upon the legions of the dead.

We love that this amazing place has embraced us, breathing life back into us, giving us space and time to heal, and to recognise each other again.

We love each other.

Who would have thought an old building would give us so much?

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