I drove to my hometown on Canada Day and back to Toronto this morning. A short trip to drop off my Mom for a weeks visit with my sister. It’s a small town, 800 people. Little has changed needless to say, it’s still much the same as when I used my Sister’s home as “summer camp” every year. That sameness has served well as nostalgic comfort over the years.
My sister is on the town’s “Cemetery Committee”. This week she received a call from someone whose elderly mother had only just revealed that a sister had died at birth and was buried there. We located the grave, it was marked by a white nameless cross. Now she will be remembered.
The picture is of the graves of “unbaptised” infants. When I was a child my brothers and I would play in the cemetery, our old homestead is 200 yards up the road. In those days these graves were outside the cemetery’s fenced border. They are in the cemetery proper now thanks to Father Tate.
Some things do change, sometimes for the better, even in small towns.