The cemetery and the primary school

Almost a year after after Mick died our son, our eldest, started primary school. He was excited to start and I knew the structure and learning would be of great support to him. A good distraction from grief and all the upheaval that we were trying to adjust to in a new stage of our lives, the first year of grief.

It is a ten minute walk to the primary school from our home and most of our walk takes us past a large historical cemetery. In fact the zebra crossing to lead us into the school takes us from the cemetery to the primary school.

There was no way to avoid the cemetery.

Just as there was no way to avoid the grief and pain of our loss which was ever present.

It was hard to start this new chapter for our son without Mick by our side and to have what felt like a stark reminder of death in the form of the cemetery on our walk to and from the school felt like another layer of death that I didn’t have the emotional capacity for. I had no words for my children about the cemetery and on reflection in the entire seven years that my children were at the school I don’t think I ever really talked to them about the cemetery.

It was just there.

Some afternoons following school we would walk through the cemetery to a playground on the other side which we called “cemetery” playground. We would eat afternoon tea on a bench catching up with friends. The kids would dart through and around crumbling graves and internally I would shake my head and wonder how it felt for them. It felt unusual to me. I envied my school Mum friends who would walk through chatting about lighter matters than the thoughts of grief and loss swirling through my heart.

This morning my meandering walk took me back to the cemetery to enjoy the space and trees. A few people were quietly wandering through with their dogs. Eventually I ended up at my favourite tree, a large Sydney Red Gum (Angophora). It is magnificent. I drive past it most days and I remember those primary school days when we used to walk past it on the way in and out of school.

It is striking, sculptural and strong. I love its smooth salmon pink bark which turns to a dusty red then grey as it grows and sheds its bark. It has many twisted gnarled limbs which reach for the sky, and in summer it blossoms snowy white. At its base are several graves which have become dislodged as the tree has grown over the years. I’m struck by its beauty and power, how life and death have become intertwined. Just like life and death has become intertwined for me.

And now my eldest has finished high school and is on his way to university.

I feel affinity with the tree. My roots are firmly twisted into the ground and death – my branches and limbs twisting and turning still determinedly growing after all these years.

I think back to how the kids and I never really chatted much on our walk to school, about

• life and death,
• the cemetery and the primary school,
• their loss and mine, or
• the fact that we had placed Mick’s ashes in another cemetery by the sea.

Maybe we didn’t need to. Just walking by it, and through it, playing next to it, and picking spring flowers from its lawns was metaphor enough.

The rainbow photo was taken one afternoon before school pick up.