Dead Words

The dearly departed's last words. THE last word. Lingering sentiments, fond wishes, the text on a tombstone. Here lies...

Prose, poetry, and proverbs adorn cemetery walls and tell-tales of who rests in towering tombs. Sepulchers adorned with famous phrases bidding sweet sleep to the dead. It has been this way since Pharaohs pontificated and were embalmed with their words wrapped mummy-style and chapters chipped on their caskets in hieroglyphic hymns.

By chance on a bright sunny spring day in Paris, my lover and I visited both the Montparnasse cemetery and the Catacombs nearby. A rather grim day spent, I assure you we topped it off with a rather carb-filled dinner to lighten our spirits. There is mystery and morose mystique in mausoleums. But more than that, a tête-à-tête trail gurgling back and forth along each cell of skulls.

French poets, priests and unknown scribes give voice to the bones brought here from their damaged graves centuries before. "When the trumpet sounds, the dead will rise again", "goodbye does not hold our talent, spirit or legacies", "Ici repose les morts du cimetiere des Innocents". Titles and tender thoughts are woven within the wet walls of the catacombs, and like all forms of graves, words linger long after we have departed this world.

For my part, I plan on leaving strict instructions in my will as to what words must be chiseled on my crypt: "Here lies in eternal repose Dawn M. Pyfer nee Bassett, along with her last secret".

That, or

"Here lies D. Bassett, she was not as fond of clams as she was Gin".

I haven't quite made up my mind.