A Place to Find Perspective

Catherine Ann White
Feb 1, 2023
6 min read

My husband and I regularly walk our dog, Fynn, at the Union Cemetery in Columbus, Ohio. There, majestic trees surround. Deer, ground hogs, and squirrels feel at home in their own private playground. Red-tailed Hawks rear their eyas in the trees. The geese cluck and honk as we walk by. An array of gravestones decorate the earth.

My husband and I live in Clintonville, Ohio. The Union Cemetery is a short walk or drive away from our home.

Records on the Union Cemetery website state that the burial of (George) Balser Hess on his family farm first established the location as a burial site. My central Ohio grave search revealed that his name might have been George Bolser Hess, the name etched into his headstone.

Born in 1747, Hess was a Revolutionary War veteran who fought alongside General George Washington. Hess passed in 1806.

Historical sites suggest that the Union Cemetery became public in 1847 and, according to grave site searches, the lot possibly expanded when purchased by Charles W. Hess in 1862 during the Civil War, allowing for the burial of other Hess family members. Further expansions occurred with purchases made by the Union Cemetery Association of Clinton Township and many other subsequent developments.

Currently, the “Old Union Cemetery” and “New Union Cemetery” fill 128 acres. Memorials of innumerable lives decorate both old and new areas, some notorious in history, some barely known.

There, you see stones for an Elmer, Ida, and Ethel. For Clyde, Irma, and Ervin. For Nellie, Moses, Otis, and Bess. For the rare Kwan Yau and Ton Ho. For Mallory, Morgan, and Wendell. For Celeste, Josephine, and Gwendolyn. And for Olga, Lulu, Flora, and Eugene.

I celebrate them all.

Both the old and new portions serve as a sanctuary for a diverse amount of wildlife. The cemetery is also a refuge for me, my husband, our dog, and those who visit the lives of lost loved ones. There, we step away from the busyness of life. It allows visitors to find peace and celebrate and mourn both life and loss.

There, I actually feel quite alive.

Headstones range from simple stones of families with little to no wealth, to elaborate marble statues announcing the burials of entire families. Some stones profess the sentiments of love between spouses, partners, or family members. Others proclaim their devotion to their God and the “heavens above.” Some have no inscription or name, as time has eroded those tombstones.

The Old Union Cemetery, located west of the Olentangy River and east of Olentangy River Road, contains the gravestones dating back to the 1800s. They remind visitors of the struggles and triumphs of past centuries. There, some burials are of unknown lives, with records showing only an “Aunt Polly,” or internment books noting a collection of bones of an unidentified person or persons.

In this older portion, my husband, dog, and I walk by many small, nondescript headstones of infants whose birth and death year are close in time. Many of these markers are for children who were born during the Great Depression and prior to the establishment of scientific advancements, such as the poliovirus vaccine in 1955, when children with polio depended on an iron lung for survival until the epidemic was under control.

Records of grave site searches indicate that the Old Union Cemetery also houses some eroding stones, such as one marker, with the only remaining visible words stating, “all our joy.”

Future establishments now surround this older cemetery area and allow its preservation, such as the current CAS building of the Chemical Abstracts Service, sitting just south of the old cemetery location.

One can find plots for more recent lives lost in the New Union Cemetery, which sits west of Olentangy River Road, north of the older cemetery portion.

In 2005, they laid Alan Leslie “Les” Goodson, PhD, to rest in this “New Cemetery-1946 addition." While alive, Les graced the lives of animals while working at the Capital Humane Society in Ohio. Later in life, he experienced Alzheimer's. People made donations in Les’s memory to the Ohio Chapter of the Alzheimer’s Association, thus advancing the understanding of this condition for future generations.

This reminds us how previous generations can positively affect future ones, not only from the good in their lives but also from their suffering and pain.

The burial plot of Stephanie Spielman, a notable cancer awareness advocate, is one I regularly see on the usual route Fynn and I traverse. Her life’s work inspired The Ohio State University Wexner Medical Center to name the Stephanie Spielman Comprehensive Breast Center in her honor. I currently complete all my breast imaging at this industry-leading site.

The new section also contains the grave of Woodrow Wilson Hayes. “Woody” Hayes is one of The Ohio State University’s legendary football coaches. For important OSU Buckeye games, my husband places a buckeye nut on his headstone for good luck.

I like to see the so-called notorious lying with the others barely known in history. Each of us, in life and death, make an impact. All of us struggle. All of us have a purpose and importance. All of us have regrets and shame. All have a story to tell.

In the cemetery, the souls of the rich and the poor mingle peacefully, and those of different colors and cultures dance together as one. The angels are the lost.

When my husband and I walk together with Fynn, Paul and I note the sentiments and photos chiseled into the stones. We talk about the unique decorations placed by the living, all of them different in style and symbolism. We ponder the importance of life, loss, and being human. The process is inspiring, humbling, sometimes hard, and always full of perspective.

One day, while walking with Fynnigan, I questioned if I adequately maintain integrity, love, and honor in the face of normal life challenges. Do I sufficiently dedicate myself to being a supportive wife? Am I falling short of proper care and training for my sweet dog? As a daughter, sister, friend, and neighbor, am I doing enough? Am I a valuable employee and contributor to society?

I thought of how very hard it is, for me and others, to maintain high values and purpose while juggling demanding work hours, waxing and waning health struggles, losing loved ones, and, for some, like me, possessing a neurodivergent brain.

Sometimes, but rarely, I cry as I walk, overtaken by it all. My heart, which is always full of passion and sensitivity, brims with emotion at the Union Cemetery.

Yet, the location never fails to encourage a reprieve from too much seriousness or emotion. It invites me to attend to my surroundings. When my environment becomes clear, I get out of my head. I hear the chattering calls of the Merlins. I smile at the silly heads of moles peeping out of their ground holes to see if I am a threat or a neighbor, and I shiver from the wind moving through the leaves. The does, fawns, and bucks pause to take me in and I reciprocate.

The most poignant moments for me occur when I see the crows speckling the ground and trees. Many other cultures revere these black beauties as symbols of wisdom. The sight of them reminds me of a crow who lived in the trees near my childhood home. We named him "Blackie," and, as kids, we cawed along with him in song.

Now, when a crow calls out at the cemetery, I take note of an internal wisdom, a part of me that is sometimes dulled if I rush through the day. This connection of what is around and what is within gives me perspective, and I find that perspective at the Union Cemetery.

As I write this on today’s gray and cold winter day, my lazy body hesitates to go to the Union Cemetery to walk my sweet Fynnigan. I don’t want to leave my warm, comfortable house. Yet a wisdom reminds me that once there, I will heal, connect, and rejuvenate, ready to celebrate the rest of my day. So will it be for my pup, Fynn.

So, if you feel discouraged, bored, stagnant, or overwhelmed, consider a walk through a cemetery. There, you may find yourself more. You might feel a mix of heaviness and ease and, attending to the full range of human emotions and perceptions can be quite essential.

For some, the journey in a cemetery arouses exuberance, a sense of being fully alive. This is the remarkable influence that can come, not only from the light and the living, but also from the loss and the lost.