The Giving Tree

I sit here on the stoop of a family tomb and in the shade of a large oak, contemplating life. Looking to my left and my right I see rows of monuments, one for each family. Obviously, not for each family in the city but each family that both wishes and can afford its own plot. Behind each row is another and another, some not even visible, but I know they are there. Along these are planted trees creating a stark contrast between the white of stones, and the green of leaves. These trees move between the tombs. For a moment I feel these silhouettes of graves as an icon of death, as the tree is to life. A juxtaposition of these two images together is powerful. The arms of the trees reach out to embrace these little homes for the dead. It is significant, that is how New Orleans is; it reaches out and takes death by the hand. Unlike the rest of the country that places death just beyond reach so as not to forget about it, but also keep it separate.

Walking and dancing with crowds of people in a Second Line, or a Jazz Funeral is a celebration. A tradition of beginning with a somber and respectful march from the chapel to the grave but transforming to a joyous departure from the cemetery celebrates ones lifelong achievements. A death, in New Orleans as it is anywhere, is agonizing. But here it provides a reason to live well and celebrate. The deceased families and friends walk the line of these marches where many more complete strangers will add to the parade. Not knowing who it was celebrating, but being more than happy he had lived.

The meaning and feeling of death in this city is nothing compared to its influence from life. But now more than ever, it holds life and death so closely. Not merely the death of friends and families, but homes and livelihoods. Now thousands of buildings, homes, schools, hospitals, corner stores, and more, have become part of the pull and push between life and death. Like the empty home of a neighbor who has passed, you know the legacy will continue in some way. Once again, beside the lost structures I can see New Orleans pairing of life and death. These silent places are touched by the yell of a child to another or the live music of a block party. New Orleans is not a dead city or a ghost town, it has more life in one broken neighborhood than most in the States. A summer block party in the rest of the country is a Sunday afternoon here. New Orleans is not abandoned; it’s a loving and living city. Much of it’s living is because of its understanding of death.