There was a time I would not countenance this. 'Ashes to ashes' is good and well. But, let them be scattered to the four corners. What cannot be brought to memory, is well left to eternity.
So many once-people rest here, with nary a visitor. Nary a soft word, nor tender touch on the sandstone. Chiselled words erased by the passage of time, if they were there to begin with. Perhaps an unmarked grave. I walk the row, weaving my still warm body through the dormitory.