Behind Marble Walls

Recently I visited an old cemetery where some of my relatives are buried. Some have grassy plots beneath a coral tree, and others are walled in the mausoleum nearby. The grounds were vast, dotted with monstrous crypts, heavy-hewn tombstones and the more modern rectangular markers engraved with names and dates and the occasional decoration. 
I saw many headstones which were incomplete, to my surprise - some with rather old dates - you'd think the spouse would have died and been buried by now, fifty years after the death of the first!  Moreover, they were incomplete inconsistently: some had both names and birth dates, with only one person's date of death, and others were completely blank on one half.  It truly puzzled me.
Though I never personally knew any of the people whose graves I had come to visit, I felt as though I were connected with them in some way, as I cleaned away the weeds and dirt from the markers that bore their names.  They were my great-aunts and uncles, on my mother's side. I'd heard their names countless times as a child, mentioned at Christmas gatherings and weekend visits with my grandparents. Sadly, I cannot recall a single memory - Uncle Clif died when I was five, Uncle Carol when I was four. I do remember Uncle Carol's funeral as being the first one I ever attended, and a strong memory at that, for that age.  I've always retained a certain curiosity and comfort about cemeteries and places where the dead are laid to rest.  I like to go there to remember; though I know that their souls have passed on to some other place, they are still with us in some way, too.
I learned something that day. My great-grandparents, who are buried in the mausoleum, had Masonic symbols on their name-plates. I don't ever remember hearing about them attending a Masonic temple, but apparently they were fairly involved at some point. Time to start talking to the first-cousins-once-removed...
I was loath to leave that place. Though I don't remember any of them, I felt like walking away was a sort of first "goodbye" to these relatives that I never knew. I even got choked up a little as I moved on. I know for sure that I will be back someday. For now, I plan to visit the other places where my relatives lie, and pay my respects there. It has been far too long since I stood before their graves and murmured a little prayer for the eternal happiness of their souls.
This I know: life is too short to die, so I must truly live, and perhaps someone who never really knew me will remember me, too.