The Tree of Souls
The picture taken for this article is of a grave. Yes, a grave; a child’s grave at that. I don’t know how the child died, though in some ways it makes no odds as the death of one so young is always tragic. I didn’t know the child during his life, nor do I know his family, whom I assume set up his grave at the base of this tree and tend to it regularly. I only know that this grave exists at all because I live close by and regularly walk past it on my lunchtime-in-lockdown walks. It’s situated in a field, just off a public footpath, and is guarded by CCTV.
In winter, the tree was adorned in Christmas decorations, the ground-level ornaments on the grave itself encrusted in snow. Now that it’s spring, the tree has been treated to a new look, sporting garlands of colourful bunting, which flap cheerfully in the sunshine. Although I don’t know the family of this child, I guess that they want his grave to be a celebration of his life, a colourful marker to represent the existence of someone taken too soon. For me, it has become a landmark and focal point, a curiosity to show those who sometimes accompany me on my walks. I took Mum in the snow and Dad in the spring, and we respectfully admired the work that someone regularly goes to in ensuring that the life of this child is not forgotten.
I’ve been very fortunate that death has not really encroached on me during my 39 years of life. I’ve never looked down the dark tunnel of disease and asked myself whether I’ll come out the other side. I have lost a set of grandparents, and the other could go at any moment, but this isn’t tragic so much as necessary to the order of things. Without death, the world’s overpopulation issue would have reached crisis point in biblical times. Although it can be devastating to lose a loved one, death is essential to the sustainability of the human race. What would be better? No death and a ban on new life, or death and new life working together in harmony? Of course, losing someone very close to me — e.g. a parent or partner — could alter my perspective on this, at least for a while. But ultimately, I grasp the sheer necessity of death to the continuation of life.
Death is often viewed as such a scary thing, yet it is a natural part of life and will eventually come to us all. That’s not to say I don’t have my fingers crossed that I go painlessly in my sleep, aged 80. When I die, I want to be cremated and ideally have my ashes scattered in the wood behind my house, rather than be buried in a plot with a gravestone. I believe that life is for the living and with overpopulation in mind, I don’t want my corpse taking up valuable space that the living could use. I realise that this sounds incredibly noble and altruistic, but the truth is that I don’t see what difference it would make to me as I won’t be around to enjoy it. However, the aforementioned bunting-clad tree-grave is challenging my view. It’s made me realise that graves are not solely designed with the deceased in mind, but also for the family as a place to gather and feel close to the person that’s been lost.
So, maybe I need to take a different approach. Rather than my partner / family asking me what I want when I die, perhaps I need to ask them what set-up would help them the most. What form would they like my remains to be in and where would they like them to be? In a wood, an urn on the mantelpiece or a plot of land overshadowed by a carved stone? When my nana passed, my aunt sought permission to scatter her ashes in the River Mersey, as she had been born and lived her whole life in or near Liverpool. We took a family trip on the ferry to carry this out, which served as closure after her death and a good excuse to renew extended family ties. It was far more enjoyable than her formal funeral, held on a frigid January morning, and it gave us, the living, an excuse to bond over something we wouldn’t ordinarily have done and notch up another new experience. After all, death is a mystery, but life is for the living.
