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I’ve always had a fascination with cemeteries. Maybe because both my grandparents lived so close to cemeteries. I never found them scary, I found them to be places of peace. My one set of grandparents had a medium sized cemetery that backed up to their property. In fact, when my grandfather died, the funeral was held in the house and he was then carried through the back yard and into the cemetery where he was laid to rest. When we would visit, my sister and I would walk and look at the headstones. I always wondered how they died, what kind of life did they live. Some people had lived to be quite old, others were the graves of children or babies. One can only imagine the heartbreak. Some were well maintained, others were practically covered in grass and weeds; maybe forgotten about…lost to the history pages of time with no one around to remember them. My other grandparents lived across the street from a huge cemetery. It is the biggest in that part of the state. You could sit on the front porch glider and look at the headstones which stretched out endlessly so it seemed, seeing tents and black hearses, and flowers, all signaling that someone else was being buried. Such an odd custom, as though it’s one last desperate effort to stay here on earth, having someone chisel a name on a stone. The custom some have of ‘visiting’ the grave, as though that keeps one closer to those who have departed for the spirit world. Cemeteries were and are such places of peace. Of course, paranormal activity is often reported in cemeteries, images, orbs, flashes of light.