Pater, Requiescat In Pace

My dad died in 1995.
This is his tomb. In Italy.

That’s where I photographed the white pebbles in the blog header.

The name shown below my dad’s is Maurizio, my brother, born before me; he only lived 40 days. He was also buried there.

When I was little I used to go with my mom to the cemetery every week to tend to the tombstones of our relatives resting there.
The cemeteries in Italy do not look like the ones here in the United Stated with green lawns and trees; instead there are rows and rows of tombs next to each other with pebbles covered corridors-like paths. Still today, anytime I walk on pebbles, the noise my steps make, remind me of those walks taken while visiting my grandparents.

I used to run ahead of my mom as soon as we entered the cemetery gate, to retrieve a water pail available near the fountain. We then walked toward my grandparents tombs. Amazingly I could easily orient myself in that labyrinth and find the right tomb as I walked ahead of my mom.
The potted plants were then watered, the cut flowers replaced with fresh ones, and the marble polished. The best thing to me was to open a little “house” holding a slow burning candle, to replace it with a new one. These little houses look like birdhouses and their purpose is to protect the flame from wind; they are made of metal and glass, and some of them are really elaborately ornate.

After a prayer, we moved to the other grandparents tomb, and then my brother’s.

Double click on a photo to view a larger version; you can see the little candle houses…