The Common Thread

In every culture, at every age, at any given time period, death is sad. The degrees of sorrow over one's passing vary based on religious beliefs and other personal feelings; however, there is a measure of grief in all such partings. Death, like dance, music, or love, is a cross-cultural concept, and sympathy from strangers for those affected can exist, even if a common language (or even a common age) cannot. This phenomenon prevails because death is not just the end of one's life, one's story on earth: it is THE end, the finish line over which ALL of us must pass before continuing onto what lies ahead of us in eternity. Death is one of the few threads that is common in every single person's tapestry of life.

Yesterday was yet another balmy afternoon in the bustling city of Athens, and the day trip was one to the museum in the harbor town of Piraeus, charming, yet a bit overbearing. Dozens of yachts from everywhere were moored to the docks: an unconscious modern day portrayal of the days of yesteryear in which people of all nations flocked to the Athen's most used harbor for trade and associated purposes. Only a few blocks from this lively shipyard was the Piraeus museum; our day's destination, its modesty juxtaposing with the frivolous nature of the enormous ships. Though its visage was not much to praise, the richness of the treasures within belied its modest appearance. Though many artifacts of unequalled importance lied within its walls, the pieces that touched me most were the funerary monuments.

The statues of the gods gracing the temple inventories of all the museum we have been to thus far have never quite touched me the way the monuments in the Piraeus museum have. I find the way in which stone--course, cold, and unfeeling--can be sculpted into such poignant farewell scenes, capable of drawing a mist to one's eyes, to be utterly overwhelming.

The funerary stele with the with the deceased woman and her family.

The first touching funeral stele that I came across was a scene in which the deceased, a woman who had died in childbirth, was among her family. She grasped her husband's forearm in a gesture of love and farewell. Her midwife held the now motherless infant in her arms, her face a picture of sadness. In the background, the woman's mother looks on, sorrow heavy upon her brow, perhaps thinking of watching her own daughter grow up and realizing that she won't see her own child do so.

An older man grips the arm of a younger man in a gesture of farewell.

Another sad depiction on the steles are those that portray the deceased as doing the activities which they loved most. Below, the stele on the right depicts an athlete scraping sweat and olive oil after some athletic competition. On the left, an actor is staring into the face of one of the drama masks used in a performance. These depictions are so touching to me because it shows the deceased as fully aware of what they are giving up as they bid their farewells. The true sadness is found in that both parties, dead and alive, are deeply sorrowed by the death: the deceased too, mourns a bitter farewell.

The athlete.

The actor