County’s newest cemetery opens at St. Peter’s Catholic church; the ‘Lost Children’ become first burials there
Editor’s Note: Rappahannock County has a new cemetery, the first in many years, at St. Peter’s Catholic Church on Rt. 211 outside of Washington, VA. The article below first appeared in St. Peter’s weekly church bulletin.
By James P. Gannon
St. Peter’s Cemetery is no longer just a hope or a plan. With its first three burials, it has become truly sacred ground, and has, by chance, taken on a special character that none of us could have foreseen. It is, at least for now, the Cemetery of the Lost Children.
Jessica, Edmund and Patrick have made it so. The first three burials in St. Peter’s Cemetery share a common trait and a special poignancy. All are children of parishioners of St. Peter’s Parish. All died years ago, but have been reburied here to be closer to the parents who loved them and lost them and wish to be near them again.
Jessica F.K. Krammes, daughter of Richard and Mary Anne Krammes (who is administrator of the parish cemetery) died in an auto accident in 1994, at age 17. Edmund George Kavanagh, son of Edmund and Bridget Kavanagh, also was killed at age 17 in an auto accident in 1980. Patrick James Gannon, son of Jim and Joan Gannon, died in 1972 of a sudden illness at the age of two years, nine months—exactly 1,000 days.
Their three graves form a triangle, the heart of our new cemetery. Jessica’s lovely rose-colored stone is carved with a memory: “Listen her laugh – our joy.” Edmund’s monument, with Celtic cross and shamrocks, speaks of the family’s Irish heritage. “Beloved Son,” is the simple tribute to the Gannons’ “Little St. Patrick,” cast in a bronze marker moved from his previous resting place at Gate of Heaven Cemetery in Silver Spring, Md.
There are no words that adequately express the deepest grief that comes with the loss of a child. As these reburials suggest, there is no end to the sense of loss, no matter how many years pass. The idea of “closure” is a media cliché that mocks the reality of parental attachment to children, as if it were possible to “move on” after such loss. We do not move on—it moves with us.
But we are people of faith and hope. Walk out into our cemetery and say a prayer for the lost children, for their parents, and for all of us. In time, we will join them. For now, the children wait. They wait for us.
Many of us will take our places in this sacred ground. Beyond their graves, looking eastward, two large walnut trees stand like sentinels guarding the gateway in between. It does not take a great deal of imagination to envision the gateway to heaven there.
-- James P. Gannon
Write a comment