
When I first emigrated to Canada, a friend took me to an old graveyard where the gravestones stood silently, proudly, like sentries standing guard over those who lay sleeping in the earth beneath. Each gravestone told a very different tale. They spoke, silently, of those who had died as infants and as young children. Many often dying in the first year of life. The silent stones also of women, young mothers, who died giving birth to life. They spoke sadly of young men who died in two great wars, laying down their lives in the quest for peace. Often the silent stones listed whole families, telling those who paused long enough to read them, the history of a particular family whose lives were full of so much pain and grief. They spoke of those who lived long lives in loud contrast to those who had died so very young. Yes, the silent stones spoke. In the whispering breeze these silent stones spoke loudly. One gravestone told a chilling tale....