I once told my mother that my favorite color of flowers is yellow. I love yellow flowers. She was surprised and told me that yellow flowers are a symbol of sympathy and funerals. I was reminded of this as I unwrapped the bouquet of bright yellow fabric flowers my aunt had purchased for us to take to the cemetery. I came for the weekend to spend All Saints’ Day with her. The day is a national holiday, and so many Poles travel to the towns and cities they are originally from. It is celebrated by almost everyone, and the tradition of visiting the cemetery is unlike anything I had experienced before. On October 31, I headed to Inowroclaw, the small city where my aunt lives in western Poland. The bus was completely full, a sign of the pilgrimage back to one’s origins, as Inowroclaw is not a popular destination on a normal weekday.
The next day, my aunt, uncle, and I all headed to the cemetery. We brought the bright bouquet of yellow flowers and stopped to buy new candles, fir tree branches, and lanterns. As we walked, it was interesting to see the sidewalks packed as everyone made their way to the graveyard. We repeatedly stopped to say hello to old friends and acquaintances who were also making their mandatory trip to visit their deceased loved ones. Outside of the cemetery, numerous stands were set up, selling flowers and other supplies for the graves. The graves in Poland are much more beautiful than in the typical American cemetery. Each gravestone is above ground and meticulously cared for (my aunt and I watched an American film later, and during a scene in a cemetery, she commented on how ugly it looked, as though it were just a park).
Stopping at each family grave, we brushed off any dirt, switched out the old flowers for new ones, put new candles in the lanterns, and lit all of the candles. Then, we took a moment to pray for each person before moving on to the next grave. The cemetery was packed with people doing the same thing. The graves looked beautiful, lit up and covered in flowers. Every single grave was taken care of. As I rode home on the bus the next evening, my breath was again taken away each time we passed through a town—the lanterns lit up the graveyards in a beautiful display of lights amid the darkness.
About an hour away from my home in western New York, my grandparents and uncle are buried. Every time we are nearby, my parents insist on stopping at the cemetery to spruce up the graves. My response has always been one of impatience and annoyance at having to make the boring and unnecessary “pit stop.” Firstly, my grandparents died before I was born, and so I, regrettably, never had the chance to form a relationship with them. Secondly, I have always found cemeteries pointless. If I wanted to pray for their souls, I could do that anywhere. If I want to celebrate them, why not tell someone a story about them to keep their memory alive? And why must we always bring flowers? Maybe we should have focused on bringing them flowers when they were alive and could appreciate them.
Experiencing All Saints’ Day in Poland gave me a completely new appreciation for cemeteries. Walking through the cemetery, I made a promise to myself that I would remember this tradition of visiting and taking care of the graves of my family members and loved ones. Yes, I still believe that it’s important to let people know you appreciate them while they are with you, but I can also be terribly sentimental, and visiting graves to take care of them is a way of showing that you remember that person and will never forget them. I think that is the least we can do for those we love after they have passed away.
Katherine Rivard graduated from Georgetown's Walsh School of Foreign Service in 2015 with a major in culture and politics. She participated in the Berkley Center's Junior Year Abroad Network while studying in Warsaw, Poland during the fall semester of 2013.
