I am a taphophile. That is, I love cemeteries, tombs, gravestones etc. Don't let the suffix, -phile mislead you, for my passion is of a non-sexual nature. I am, however, often reluctant to use the term 'taphophile', for fear of misinterpretation of its meaning, by those who may not understand the term. When discussing my hobby, I just say "I am a cemetery enthusiast".
A lot of people don't understand my attraction to cemeteries, and frankly I don't understand why I love them, either. For you see, when I was a child, I was terrified of graveyards.
One of my earliest memories involves my mother taking me to a cemetery in Bristol, VT. I must have been two or three. I wasn't afraid, being too young to know what a cemetery was. It didn't occur to me that there were dead people under my feet. As far as I was concerned, those big stone things were for climbing. I recall attempting to scale an obelisk, only to have Mom pluck me off the monument.
As I got older, and I learned what cemeteries were, I developed a mild phobia of cemeteries, mixed with fascination. When one of my older sisters made me take a shortcut through a cemetery I was terrified, not because I was afraid of ghosts (the idea that a cemetery could be haunted never even crossed my mind), but because I was walking on dead people. I remember being disturbed by the sight of a baby's gravestone, shaped like a teddy bear.
When my sisters told me to hold my breath whenever we passed a cemetery, and keep holding my breath until we saw a white house, I complied, even though they never told me why I should hold my breath.
But it wasn't all fright and superstition. There were laughs, too. For as long as I can remember, every time we'd drive past a graveyard my Dad would point and say, "Hey kids, people are dying to get in there,". No matter how old the joke got, I always insisted on hearing it.
In the fifth grade, the special Civil War class I was taking (the school I was attending did elective classes, such as drama, or French. You signed up on a first come first serve basis) took a trip to a cemetery in Burlington. We were looking for the graves of Union generals and soldiers and I took the entire adventure very seriously. I prayed at the graves we visited and even scolded the ear off of a classmate who broke a child's gravestone by sitting on it. I remember the grave that he had broken had a lamb statue on it, and was in the segregated African American section of the cemetery. I remember our teacher (who was also the school sheriff) explaining to us that this part of the cemetery was in bad shape, because of racism.
Around the age of 10, while reading up on ghosts, I finally figured out that cemeteries could be haunted. I reacted to this idea with fear and curiosity. I wanted to go to a cemetery and conjure up some ghosts. As I grew up, my fear of cemeteries turned into a fascination. When my 7th grade social studies class went on a field trip to a local cemetery too look for the graves of notable historical citizens, I was so excited I didn't even bother doing our assignment, I just wandered around in a state of joy.
For a long time, cemetery visits were a rarity. I vaguely recall visiting a small 19th century cemetery in Willsboro, NY one humid July 4th, but other than that, my curiosity went unsatisfied.
It wasn't until I moved to Bellows Falls VT, that I started to become a full blown taphophile. I loved going to cemeteries now, dragging friends along with me. When I couldn't find anyone to join me, I'd go by myself, though I felt uncomfortable doing so, due to a slight fear of ghosts.
One day, in fall of 2007, I happened upon a website named Grave Addiction. It was like the heavens had opened up and shone down upon me. Not only could I enjoy cemeteries from all over the country without having to leave my house, but I had gleaned some very important knowledge. I was not alone. There were others like me out there. Other people who shared a deep passion for cemeteries, funerals and the fine art of mourning. Beth's website inspired me to fully embrace my love for graveyards and, what started as a fascination became a part of my identity. When I go on long road trips, I count how many cemeteries we drive by. I walk long distances just to visit a favorite graveyard.
And yet, the old fears never left me. I still won't go into cemeteries at night, at least not by myself. I don't know where this particular phobia came from, but it seems to stem more from a primeval fear of the dark, of the unknown, than the cemetery itself. There could be anything hiding in the gloom- ghosts, monsters, psycho murderers, Snooki.
I also can't go into certain cemeteries by myself, even in the daytime. For instance, I've had so many paranormal experiences in Oak Hill cemetery in Bellows Falls VT, that I just won't go in there alone (though I've still had some eerie experiences even with a companion). I'm working on this fear, by daring myself to go into creepy cemeteries on my own. I've even developed a mantra to help me "The dead can't hurt me. It's the living I've got to fear".
How did I go from being afraid of cemeteries, to loving them? How can I both fear and love something? I've gone over this again and again. Why do I love cemeteries? Why am I so fascinated by the macabre? Why am I so drawn to death, despite my fears? Is it my fear that attracts me? There aren't any simple answers, I'm afraid. Nothing that I can interpret from my brain to the keyboard (curse you, Non-verbal Learning Disorder! Curse you!), at least. I think the best I can do, is stop thinking about the why of things, and just enjoy being a taphophile.
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