"The Forgotten Souls: A Reflection on Life, Death, and Remembrance"

 

Dear Readers,

There’s something that lingers long after attending a funeral. It’s not only the weight of losing a life but the unsettling feeling that the memory of that life will vanish, sometimes within days. As I stand by gravesides, I’m often struck by how many people view a funeral as little more than an obligation, with many barely showing a hint of remorse. Some, who were once at the centre of their families and communities, are forgotten all too soon, their graves left without flowers or any sign of remembrance.

I find myself returning to the same thought: the dead will always call to us, even if not to their own families, then to the rest of us, the strangers who linger. The memory of those who passed often returns to me in quiet moments, like an unspoken reminder of the stories they carried. It’s not the faces of the living that come to mind but the memories of the forgotten souls who seem to reach out, seeking a little acknowledgement, a small tribute.

The Superficial Farewell

When I go to a funeral, I see people coming and going, placing their handfuls of soil and muttering their condolences. It’s a routine, more for show than sincerity. Many barely stay for the closing of the grave. I overhear people speaking in hushed tones about their plans for lunch, gossiping about family feuds, and sometimes even laughing as they wait to leave.

A memory stands out—an elderly woman who, by all accounts, was kind and gentle, a true pillar for her family and neighbours. When she passed, I went to her funeral, expecting to see her loved ones honouring her memory. But instead, I was struck by the indifference. The crowd quickly dispersed barely a tear shed. There was no one left when the last flower was laid down, and, within days, she was all but forgotten. I overheard one person muttering, "Why should we put flowers for the dead? They’re just bones now." Those words stuck with me, echoing the harsh reality of what happens when people are reduced to mere remnants of what they once were.

The Dead Will Always Call Us

In my quiet moments, I often find myself thinking back to these forgotten souls. Sometimes, it’s almost as if they call to me. Not in a haunting way, but as a gentle reminder that they, too, lived and loved, laughed and struggled. They seem to want the world to know that they were here, that their lives mattered, even if no one else will remember them. These memories cling to me, filling the empty spaces where other memories might have faded.

Every soul deserves respect, and while I may not know them personally, I feel obligated to honour their existence in some small way. For the dead were once living, breathing people who left behind a legacy, however humble. Every life touches another, and every individual has a story, even if it’s eventually buried. When people ask me why I stay until the last flower is laid, I tell them it’s because it’s what I would want—to be remembered, even by a stranger, as a person, not a "body."

A Legacy Fading Away

Death has an unkind way of stripping people of their identity. They’re no longer remembered by name; they’re simply “the body.” When I stand by graves, I feel a strong sense of sorrow, knowing that these lives are often reduced to mere bones. In some places, exhumation becomes another form of erasure, as bones are discarded without ceremony. Even the tombstones are replaced, and new graves cover the old. In those moments, I am left wondering: is this all that awaits us?

But perhaps the legacy isn’t in the graves, or in the fleeting memories of those who knew us. It may be in the kindness we show to others while we’re alive. The lives we touch leave a lasting imprint, even if it’s invisible to most. And yet, the sadness remains, knowing that for some, their legacy will be wiped away without a trace.

Reflection and Conclusion

In this world, it is easy to be forgotten. It is even easier to forget those who came before us. The moral here is simple but powerful: respect those who have passed. Not out of duty, but out of an understanding that they were once like us, living and breathing, dreaming and striving. Honour their memory, for in doing so, we are honouring our own humanity.

When I attend funerals, I make it a point to stay until the very end, until the last flower is placed. In those moments, as I watch the grave closed, I feel a quiet sense of fulfilment, as though I’ve honoured a silent promise to the departed. I may not have known them personally, but I carry their memory with me, each one a reminder of how fragile and fleeting life can be. Perhaps, when my time comes, someone else will do the same for me. Or perhaps I will be forgotten, replaced by the next soul to pass. But I hold onto the hope that the life I lead now will leave a small imprint on the hearts of those I encounter.

In the end, what we leave behind is not only measured in what we have achieved but in the lives we have touched. So, let us not forget those who have departed. And if you ever find yourself at a grave, take a moment to remember that once, they were someone. Leave a flower if you can. Speak their name. Remember, because one day, that will be all we have left.

God Bless Us All.

Do pray for the Dead, so that they may have a good life after death.

Thank You 

Jacob M