A Grave Admission

Emily with Rachel Carson in Woods Hole on Cape Cod.

Let’s talk about the dead for a moment, shall we?

It's an unexpected twist, but I've found myself drawn to the world of graves. You see, I’m perhaps the least likely person you’d expect to have become a grave hunter. I have only attended one funeral in the last quarter century—and nearly skipped that one.

It was my father’s, and I went, hoping to hold onto my eight siblings, with whom I had little in common other than blood and upbringing.

As far as I’m concerned, the time to send flowers is when someone is alive. After they’re dead, if they meant anything to me, I carry them within. Goodness knows, I’ve been visited by and had many a conversation with those who are dead.

I don’t mean this in an especially mystical way. I simply find myself walking in the woods or by the ocean, always apart from other living humans, and I feel someone near. I can’t say if their presence is in my heart or if they are sitting, standing, or walking with m…