Earlier this fall, Yang and I took a trip to the Precious Blood Cemetery in Woonsocket, where my patron saint is buried.  Here’s a picture of her grave – though technically she was never canonized.  Does that mean I was never really a Catholic?  Oh well, I’m an Episcopalian now anyway.

It’s a wonderful graveyard on the edge of the city with some lovely statuary – and on a grey Saturday afternoon, the trip seemed perfect for the season.   As a Catholic cemetery, there are statues of saints that you just don’t find in the Protestant cemeteries.

Many people seem to have valued the Little Flower, Saint Therese de Lisieux.  Not surprising since she is a French saint and the large number of Catholics here are immigrants or descendants of immigrants from Canada.  I actually took Therese’s name as my confirmation name because she had to struggle with a bad temper with  incompetent people – guilty as charged.  Those who know me can let me know if you think it helped.

I also saw  a mini St. Anthony, 

and a St. Anthony with the baby Jesus – in statuary form, that is.  Remember, if you’ve lost something, Anthony is the go-to guy.

Jesus also made other appearances – again only in statuary form.

Here’s the sacred heart.

Here is a bronze relief of Christ’s passion on the cross affixed to a grey granite monument, his suffering conveyed through the twist of the metal form.

One grave was surmounted by a life-size bronze of of the three Marys suffering along with Jesus as they witness his crucifixion.

There were also  funerary sculptures that you might find in more secular or not Catholic cemeteries.  Everyone has angels!  Here are some of my favorites from the visit.  There is this child angel.

And this grown-up grieving angel

I saw many women, grieving, bearing their crosses of repentance, or descending with grace for the departed

I was particularly taken by some of the mausoleums.  One looked like a French or Canadian farm house.

Another was a circle of columns raised above the cemetery on a hill.  It was like a classical ruin.

Yang took a moment for contemplation.

I was looking out on vistas of graves

to view this:

And aren’t these graves always the saddest ones of all?