Moments in Marble

Quetzaltenango, Guatemala 2025

Today I went for a long walk by myself. I made my way across town to stroll through el Cementario General de Xela. It is enormous, a sprawling expanse of new and old tombs; giant, elaborate marble ones and simple mounds of dirt. This is a National Cultural Heritage Site, filled with a mix of noble families, historical figures, and ordinary citizens, reflecting the social hierarchy and various chapters in the history of the city and the country of Guatemala. Presidents and political leaders, musicians, sculptors, writers and athletes, as well as ordinary citizens have found their rest here. 

There are paths of grass between the rows, that felt so light and grounding to walk on in the midst of concrete city living. Each row was lined with flowing willowy trees, shading the visitors and their deceased loved ones. Thousands of flowers–fresh, recent ones and  older, dried but still lovely ones–were placed on and around the memorials, adding even more color to the stones. 

I ascended a hill to a more humble section of the cemetery, known as the “Hill of Oblivion,” a field of individual plots with simple gravestones and crosses.  Families in traditional Mayan apparel coasted along the narrow paths, some in silence and others in animated conversation. What stood out to me most here was the life and vibrance springing out from among the dead. Rather than only bouquets of picked flowers, there were wild poppies and daisies exploding through the cracks in the stones and around the edges of markers. Butterflies filled the air like God was tossing delicate white petals all over the buried bones. It was a garden just as much as it was a graveyard. 

On my way out, I noticed a woman, maybe in her 60s, sitting quietly on a stone and gazing at the plot across from her. A boy, I assume her grandson, sat next to her. As I approached, he leaned closer, wrapped his arms around her, and rested his head on her shoulder. They stayed like that, looking somehow more peaceful than sad, although I’m sure there was a heaviness in their hearts as well, even after I passed and glanced back at them. 

Meandering through those rows fulls of stories, love, life and death, I was filled with immense gratitude for how blessed I am that a cemetery is a place I can simply admire and offer respect to, but has not yet become a place I visit frequently with flowers in my own hands.