Does visiting a cemetery get you depressed?

Is that a normal reaction or do I need a shrink? I am normally a happy go lucky type with a “What me worry?” attitude and outlook.

I’ll admit to being no stranger to depression. But I share your feelings about cemeteries. It’s a very tough thing to deal with on so many levels.

Well like in the case of my folks, they lived long productive and happy lives and passed at an advanced age. But an innocent baby who only 5 survived days is unbearably sad to me.

@NomoreY_A Your reaction was well within the normal range. It is sad to see the grave of an infant or a child. Sometimes, going to an older cemetery from pioneer days, one sees that the parents buried a few children.

There are few things as sad as a parent burying a child, no matter what the age.

I like cemetery’s. I find them peaceful and I like reading the headstones in old cemetery’s. They tell a story of our past. I live across the street from a cemetery.

^I also enjoy cemeterys. I treat my visit like a history lesson and try to envision the lives of those who have passed away.

With that said there is nothing wrong or abnormal about getting depressed when you visit. It’s a natural reaction.

Where I grew up in Central Massachusetts the local Congregational Church had a cemetery with graves that dated from colonial days, most of the headstones being still readable. I recall pretty vividly one of the gravestones that said the decedent had died of “Acute Sore Throat”, in 1763, if I recall correctly. I’ve wondered for a long time how awful that death must have been: few or no useful pain killers, no antibiotics, and also if I recall correctly it was a winter death, too. A young woman, though I do not recall how old.

It no longer depresses me much, and I don’t worry about it. I figure, “if they all did it, well then, so can I!” I admit I’m not so much looking forward to it, though, and I hope to have an easier end than that, whether I deserve it or not.

It doesn’t seem odd to me to be sad, mournful for someone you never even knew or depressed for a few hours over seeing and thinking of something like that. Only human (if that’s any consolation).

I’m still planning to live forever, though. So far, so good.

Yes. I don’t really visit graves.

I find them interesting. Every stone represents a story. And just like stories some are long and some are short.
When i go to a cemetery I am respectful and silent but definitely not depressed. I’m on the top side of the grass.

Note. Many cemeteries host geocaches cleverly hidden among the stones. Often families will set one up in honor of a lost child. If I have time I try to find one.
This one Winged Things was hidden by family an friends of a teenage girl who died suddenly. It is a beautiful tribute.

I don’t get depressed in graveyards, quite the opposite in fact. They are peaceful places that make me think about life, not death. I went on a tour of the Necropolis in Glasgow recently on a beautiful day with the sun streaming across the green turf and the gravestones. As I read the inscriptions for the famous and for the unknown I was happy to be alive. The most depressing part of the graveyard was the memorial to the stillborn but even here the inscribed words were poignant and moving, not depressing.

“I will not forget you…
I have held you in
The palm of my hand.”

No it isn’t depression. I’m at an age where those trips to the cemetery are frequent indeed. My particular affliction is the habit of reading the tombstones. And every time, in every graveyard, I am confronted with the realization that people are certainly living longer nowadays. In fact it’s rather startling to read markers from the 50s and even the 60s and see so many lifespans under 50 years. And KIDS! LOADS of kids. In fact, among the stones on which the year of death is in the1950s or earlier, it is actually difficult to find stones of people my present age or above. A month ago, I was once again in a graveyard for the internment of a very affable and adored man who keeled over from a stroke at the shocking age of 48. The crowd at his little church was so huge that people were massed outside on the sidewalk, so I decided to drive to the grave site while the service in the church was still underway in order to avoid both the tangle of cars and certain mob of people destined to assemble. My early arrival allowed me ample time to again review stones, and the results again were consistent with earlier discoveries.

No, not the cemetery nor the stones. I do like to read them and ponder on the lives of the occupants and have on occasion, usually while vacationing, just visited some for the express purpose of going to a cemetery. But most of the time I only find myself going during what is normally a sad occasion and the occasion itself is somewhat disheartening.

There is a small local cemetery on land that my wife’s ancestors donated to a Lutheran church back in the 1800’s. It is filled with headstones of area families, those who were born, lived and died within a few miles of the site. The church is no longer there but the cemetery remains.

It had fallen into disuse and subsequent disrepair but a couple of decades ago the locals got together, cleaned it up and began to maintain it again on a regular basis. They also opened it up and started selling lots again. My father-in-law is buried there and several other members of the family own lots there now.

My wife and her cousin caused quite a stir there a year after her father died. On Día de Muertos they took a package of Hershey kisses and a can of Dr. Pepper, her dads favorites, and set them on his gravestone. Such a thing just didn’t happen in a Lutheran Cemetery! But, times change and the years pass and with the influx of Catholics, mostly Hispanic now, being interred there such a sight is not uncommon and accepted without question these days.

It is a quiet, peaceful rural setting and a few folks have placed concrete benches at or near the graves of family members. I usually find myself going there a couple of times a year, to take photos sometimes, but mostly to sit quietly and reflect on life as I watch the sun set over the pastureland.

No, mortality is a part of life. I do get a bit sad when I see the graves of babies or young children.

I like them actually. I am the family decorator of graves for Memorial Day and things like that. There are sad things, like couples who died in a few days of each other, soldiers who died under 25 years old, forgotten graves, grown up that no one tends. For the most part, I think of it as a place of rest & peace, no one can hurt you there- all that kind of thing is over.

If you don’t like it, maybe try taking some incense and burning it, or going on a sunny day and reading a book, it’s not disrespectful to spend time with your family members or friends who have passed, it’s kinda cool and makes me feel like I visited with them.

^I went to visit my parents grave on a Memorial Day and on the gravesite beside my parents, some people had spread a blanket and were having Kentucky Fried chicken. Odd, but they seemed to be enjoying their picnic.

@chyna. I could think of more pleasant sites for visiting the Colonel.

@KNOWITALL. Incense huh? Crispy or origional?

@NomoreY_A Xtra crispy please!

@chyna I see nothing wrong with that, although I’ve never eaten at the gravesite of my family.
Sure, I’m kind of weird, I’ve burnt incense, letters, and asked my uncle for a spirit pack from China…I don’t know, I just really miss my grandparents.

The mother of the child I mentioned above encourages people to sit on the bench facing her grave and enjoy the quiet. Eating a nice lunch there is fine and it reminds people of her daughter.

Not depressed I just think of all the history that went with them.

I find (old, established) cemeteries peaceful and relaxing. Modern ones are sterile and unappealing.

No. To me it’s a walk through history, a mystery of lives.

This was pretty depressing, depressing, tho. Rick and I were driving out in the country when he spied this in a field. Yes, it’s an actual grave in a Kansas farm field. I got out to examine it more closely. It was a little girl, only 4 years old, born in 1898 died 1902. It hurt my heart to see her all alone, out there in the field. You could see where they farmers swung their crops around her.

No cemeteries don’t depress me, but funerals involving dropping a body into the ground depress me to no end. And we have to go to one of a dear friend tomorrow. Dreading that.

Not depressed but nervous. I feel funny walking on peoples’ graves.