Like Coming Home
On Monday, I went for a stroll through Óbudai temető (Óbudai Cemetery) to visit Apuci on what would have been his eighty-second birthday. It was, of course, a virtual visit—thanks to the wonders of modern technology and Anyuci, who braved temperatures in the mid-to-high thirties to make the pilgrimage.
I have no recollection of ever visiting the cemetery where Apuci is buried, though I have no doubt that I was there countless times as a young child. Over the years, I have seen numerous photographs of the grave and headstone, but none of them convey the essence of the cemetery.
It was, at once, a surreal yet embodied experience. Through the camera, I could see everything Anyuci saw—from the entrance, to the chapel, along the tree-lined road, and finally to the Neuhäuser grave.
And there he was.
And then the tears.
I grew up knowing that Apuci wanted to be cremated and for his ashes to be buried alongside his mother, Mama. After he passed away, my brother flew his ashes back to Hungary, where a second funeral service was held. Although I have seen photographs of that funeral, I have always felt strangely disconnected from the ritual. Ever since, I have longed to visit the grave for myself.
Despite it being a chilly five degrees here at the time, I could almost feel the warmth of the Hungarian sunshine through the camera lens. Perhaps it was the sight of the parched flowers and dry earth that made me think it was hot. Or perhaps it was the warmth radiating from the heater on the other side of my lounge, and my mind was merely playing tricks on me. Whatever the reason, it felt as though I were actually there, walking alongside Anyuci.
What struck me most was how peaceful the cemetery felt. Not peaceful in a melancholy way, but in a welcoming one, if such a thing is possible.
Like a sense of coming home.
Anyuci paused and simply stayed with me in silence, giving me space for my thoughts as the tears subsided.
The only thing missing was the ability to reach through the screen and touch the grave.
I imagine that when I finally make the journey in person, I will sit quietly beside him, breathing in the tranquillity, placing my hand upon the stone, and grounding myself amongst my ancestors.
