In November, I wrote a post about fulfilling my hundredth Find a Grave photo request. That was a big milestone for me! But since I started cemetery hopping in earnest last December, it’s resulted in so much more than that. It’s changed me in ways I was not expecting.

Telling Their Stories

I’m not into the paranormal. My faith is in Jesus Christ, not Ouija boards. Some people visit cemeteries in hopes of making contact with the “other side”. And that’s fine. But it’s not my goal.

However, I have become more willing to believe in the unexplained. I do think some individuals whose graves I have discovered wanted me to find them. They almost tug on my sleeve to get my attention. It isn’t a coincidence that I found slain police officer Ralph K. Davis’ grave amid hundreds of others at Sugar Hill Baptist Church Cemetery. Something about it urged me to find out more.

When I discovered Ralph was at the center of one of the biggest murder cases in Gwinnet County history, I knew I had to write about it. By sharing the story of Ralph and his brother officers Marvin Jesse Gravitt and Jerry Everett, I educated a new generation about a forgotten slice of history. It’s hard not to feel a jolt when you realize that you frequently, unknowingly, travel a road that was once a murder scene.

The same goes for Adeline Bagley Buice, who while pregnant not only survived arrest by the Union Army and transportation to the North, she spent five years making her way to the only home she had ever known. That kind of spirit is stunning. I’m glad I was able to share her story to a fresh audience.

But my favorite so far has to be children’s author Madge Bigham. I literally had to dig up her gravestone because it was so covered by sod and grass clippings. She was waiting patiently for someone to uncover it.

In discovering Madge, I found a kindred spirit who loved writing as much as I do. Her love for children and her desire to improve their lives in an era when women were supposed to get married and stay quietly at home is impressive.

Since then, I’ve swapped emails with some of Madge’s relatives and learned more about her. When I visit Westview Cemetery, I always stop by her grave (and those of her three siblings) to make sure it’s not getting covered up again. To say hello and assure her she’s not forgotten.

Making New Friends and Reconnecting With Old Ones

I’m an introvert by nature. Talking to people I don’t know is a struggle. By getting into cemetery hopping and writing this blog, I have met or reconnected with some great people.

Sharon Smith Patterson is a perfect example. I didn’t know her well in high school but we met up again this year when she started reading my blog. By accepting her invitation to visit an almost hidden Davis Cemetery, I discovered a wealth of history I’d never known. Thanks to my new hobby, I got to spend some time with Sharon and get to know her better.

The same goes for helping my buddy Steve Reagin find his ancestors in Lithonia. We hadn’t seen each other in years but once we started talking, it felt like it had only been a few months.

I’ve also made new friends in my community who read my blog. One of them is Jennifer Graham, a fellow “hopper” and talented photographer. It’s great fun to sit and talk with someone else who shares my passion for history and cemeteries.

One thing that’s surprised me is how many people want to talk to me about their own affinity for cemeteries. Martin, the friend who helped me find Westivew Cemetery, is one of them. He and I have talked about how he finds comfort by visiting his mother’s grave. How visiting cemeteries is a positive experience for him. I like knowing that I’m not the only one.

The Sweet Sound of Silence

I’m not outdoorsy. At. All. I have gone real tent camping exactly twice in my life. A cabin is more my comfort zone than a sleeping bag on the ground.

However, now that I spend a good bit of my time under the open sky of a cemetery, my comfort level with the great outdoors has shifted.

When I’m in a cemetery, especially one out in the country, I enter a different world. No cars honking, no music blaring, nobody talking on cell phones. It’s just me, nature and the dead. The only background noises are the squirrels and birds going on about their business.

With the lack of distractions, I can let myself relax. My anxiety level drops and I find a peace that’s beyond words. I can appreciate God’s handiwork and the lives of those He created, all of them unique.

Finding My Voice

A few years ago when I first considered blogging, I knew I didn’t want to write a “mommy blog.” Many other talented ladies have that covered and do it well. I wanted to write about something unique and quirky. Something different.

With Adventures in Cemetery Hopping, I’ve found my true voice. A platform for my writing, which is something for which I’ve sought for quite a while. It releases something in my soul that makes me feel heard. Not necessarily understood, but heard.

As 2013 ends, I issue you an invitation. If there’s a cemetery you would like me to visit, please let me know. I already have a long list but I’m always happy to add to it. Just contact me at traci.rylands@gmail.com.

So many cemeteries. So little time!

A few weeks ago, I was fulfilling a photo request for Find a Grave at a cemetery not far from my home. I’d been there other times. But on that day, I found something I’ve never seen before. On the side of the base of a grave marker was a box of what looked like human hair.

Inside a clear plastic Caboodles makeup box was a bag containing what appeared to be two ponytails of blonde human hair. It didn’t look like fake hair.

Nothing about the grave marker indicates why it’s there. The deceased was 47 when he died in 2006. He’s buried beside his grandparents. That’s all I know. Since then, many people I’ve shown the picture of it to have puzzled over why it’s there and its meaning. But there has to be a special story behind that box.

The most common items left on graves (besides flowers) are stones and rocks. This is primarily a Jewish custom. In the Old Testament, the sons of Jacob and Rachel placed stones over their mother’s grave. This type of “cairn” grave is not common any more but you can see them from time to time.

One reason people place stones on graves is that they believe it keeps the soul down. This theory, with roots in the Talmud, cites that souls con­tinue to dwell for a while in the graves in which they are placed. The grave, called a beit olam (a permanent home), was thought to retain some aspect of the departed soul.

Rocks are favored over flowers on Jewish graves because flowers were considered pagan. Mind you, Jews do use flowers on other occasions such as Shabbat and other holidays. But in general, do not leave them on graves. Also, rocks have a more permanent symbolism than flowers, which fade and eventually die.

This practice has gone beyond Jewish custom and is now embraced by people of all faiths. The reason is simple. It’s an easy way to leave a small memento that someone was there to visit the grave, to honor the deceased.

Another common item left on graves is a coin. This practice has its origins in ancient Greek mythology. Kharon (or Charon) was the ferryman of the dead, an underworld demon. He received the shades of the dead from Hermes, who gathered them from the upper world and guided them to the shores of the Akheron, one of the five rivers in Hades.

From there, Kharon took them in his boat to a final resting place in Hades, the land of the dead, on the other side. The fee was a single obolos coin, which was placed in the mouth of a corpse at burial. Those who had not received due burial and were unable to pay their fee would be left to wander the earthly side of the Akheron (some say it is the River Styx and not the Akheron), haunting the upper world as ghosts.

In recent years, someone (whose name is unknown) wrote a primer on what certain coins mean when left on the grave of a person who served in the military. As an example, a nickel left on a grave supposedly means it was left by another serviceman who served with the deceased in boot camp. In my research, I’ve found nothing concrete to confirm these assertions yet.

It is true that military folk do sometimes leave special remembrances at the graves of deceased servicemen. They’re called challenge coins. These tokens identify their bearers as members of particular units and are prized and cherished by those to whom they’ve been given. Any challenge coins found at grave sites are almost always certainly left there by comrades-in-arms of the deceased.

After rocks and coins, what people leave on graves runs the gamut from the sad to the funny to the just plain weird (that box of hair qualifies). Statues of angels are popular. Some of you remember that on one of my first “hops”, I found some rubber snakes on a grave that made me jump about 10 feet.

At Oakland Cemetery in Atlanta, visitors leave golf balls at the grave of legendary golfer Bobby Jones. People leave Campbell soup cans on artist Andy Warhol’s grave in homage to his famous painting of…a can of soup. Fans of Elvis leave scores of teddy bears on his grave at Graceland. I wonder if someone’s ever left a peanut butter and banana sandwich there.

One famous example involves the grave of Hollywood icon Marilyn Monroe. Her ex-husband (and baseball legend) Joe DiMaggio set up an account with a local florist to put roses on Marilyn’s grave three times a week for 20 years after her death. He reportedly promised her on their wedding night that if anything were to happen to her he would honor her in some special way.

When I recently visited Kansas City, I wanted to see the grave of jazz legend Charlie Parker. It’s located far outside the city in a very out of the way cemetery. The little ceramic bird (with a real feather in it) left on his gravestone was simple but sweet.

In the end, it really doesn’t matter what token you leave behind when you visit someone’s grave. If it’s something you feel best expresses how you remember that person, that’s what matters most.

Even if it’s a box of hair.

I dread the Christmas holidays.

Does that make me a bad person? Maybe. But to deny my feelings would be lying and that’s worse.

My father died five days after Christmas. This year marks the 10th anniversary of his passing. Some years are easier to handle than others. I’ve found that there’s no way to predict what each one will be like.

Christmas is also hard because my Dad really loved celebrating it. He was one of those people who put up the tree the day after Thanksgiving. He loved Christmas music. He was the narrator in some of our church’s Christmas productions. For a man who could be rather stoic, Christmas transformed him into a joyful, almost lighthearted person.

I know I’m not the only one who misses a loved one during the holidays. I’m no expert but here are some rules that help me get through it.

1. It’s Okay to Admit You Dread Christmas.

As a Christian, admitting that I struggle with feeling happy about the biggest Christian celebration of the year is difficult. For those who don’t understand, it makes no sense to feel sad when I should be happy. Why can’t I put my grief aside and celebrate that God came to the world in the form of a baby to show us His love? I can’t do that some days. That’s just a fact and I am okay with that now.

Give yourself permission to be honest about what you’re feeling. Your friends and family may not understand but they don’t have to. It’s not about them. It’s about taking care of yourself.

2. It’s Okay to Cry.

When I was young, the album Free to Be, You and Me came out. One of the songs was sung by former NFL great, Rosie Greer. It’s Okay to Cry was one of my favorites, especially the line “It’s okay to cry/crying gets the sad out of you.” Simplistic, yes, but easy for a child to understand.

This year, I managed to make it until this past Wednesday before I cried. On the way home from taking my son to school, I burst into tears. I was mourning the fact that Christmas just isn’t the same without Dad. You would think with time that this feeling would change, but it hasn’t. I don’t like crying because I get all snotty (ick) and feel out of control. But it’s a release I need to express the emotions I can’t handle.

Rosie was right. Crying is not a form of weakness. It is a sign of strength to admit you are dealing with personal pain. Your tears mean you feel something deeply and by letting those emotions flow out, you can find some solace.

3. It’s Okay to Go into Survival Mode Until January.

During the holidays, sometimes you have to simply do what you have to do to survive. That doesn’t mean going into a bunker until January 1. But if avoiding a holiday party or foregoing watching “Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer” on TV helps, then that’s what you do.

If it means having an extra piece of peppermint bark, nobody is going to judge you. And if they do, they can come talk to me. If you’d rather listen to Led Zeppelin (“Immigrant Song” is one of my favorites) instead of 24 hours of Christmas music, so be it.

If getting through December means going underground for a little while, that’s alright. Don’t feel guilty and pretend to feel a joy you don’t.

4. It’s Okay to Be Angry.

Yes, anger can bubble up amid the grief. I get mad at God for taking my father at the age of 65. I’m angry that he’s not here to see my son open his presents or take him to see the Christmas lights. Dad would have loved his grandson dearly and the fact he never got to meet him seems unfair. Yes, I am lucky that I had my father as long as I did. But that doesn’t make the feelings go away.

Don’t push that anger away. Stuffing it down inside just makes it worse. Acknowledging your frustration is the first step in making peace with it. Yell at God if you want to. He can take it.

5. It’s Okay to Laugh.

For many years, we had a rather bizarre Christmas tree stand that Dad had fashioned out of an old tether ball tire and a holder he wedged into the center of it. Regardless of whether or not we got a real tree or used our fake one, getting a tree into that stand was a challenge he relished. I learned early to leave the room during this time while the stream of Yosemite Sam-like swearing took place. We still laugh about it now.

Dad loved the movie A Christmas Story . To him, it was a slice of his childhood served up on celluloid. Watching him laugh at the father’s (Darren McGavin) attempts to get the furnace to work or his pride in receiving his “major award” in the form of a naughty lamp are memories I treasure. Watching that movie makes me feel close to Dad again, if only for a few hours.

Laughing while you’re crying is good, too.

6. It’s Okay to Live in the Moment.

If I look at December as one long, miserable sobfest, it’s going to be just that. Instead, I try to live hour by hour, day by day, with no expectations.

Yes, some of it’s going to stink. But some of it can be good. Singing “Holly Jolly Christmas” with my fake Burl Ives accent is funny to me (and painful to those around me). So is eating the head off a gingerbread man. Or watching Barbara Stanwyck in Christmas in Connecticut for the hundredth time.

By living in the moment, you can celebrate life for what it is. A strange but fascinating collection of unique experiences and emotions. There are flashes of joy amid the sadness.

That’s all I’ve got. Hope it helps.

Merry Christmas, Daddy. I still miss you.