The Children of Mount Auburn
By Maria Lindberg
When a child is asked,“ What would you like to do today?” a usual answer might be“ Let’ s go to the playground”, or“ Let’ s see a movie.” My own children are adults now, but when asked this question so many years ago they were quick to answer“ Let’ s go to Mount Auburn Cemetery!”
Our weekly sojourns would start at Auburn Lake with nature’ s unfailing promise of surprise and delight. Their eager anticipation of making friends with a turtle or watching the still majesty of a blue heron was palpable. My children became skilled at quiet observation and learned that patience really does reward when they were startled( and delighted) by the throaty greeting of a bullfrog or the scampering of chipmunks. Voices automatically became hushed as they tried to peek into the“ little houses” lining Auburn Lake where people were“ sleeping.” What they were unaware of was that they were walking along a path to personal growth as they absorbed the abundant gifts of nature surrounding them.
We always made time to visit the children of Mount Auburn Cemetery. This was not one’ s typical playdate! On our way to Auburn Lake, we would pass the poignant statue of a child ornamenting the grave of Leopold Morse Jr., son of Leopold Morse( August 15, 1831-December 15, 1892) who was a United States Representative from Massachusetts. There are no dates inscribed – just a kneeling child looking heavenward with hands-clasped. My children loved to visit“ Little Leopold.” After we said our goodbyes to him, we would cross Fountain Avenue, where under a shady bower is the grave of a child named Edith Wolt, daughter of Peter and Mary Helen Wolt and grandchild of Baker and Mary McNear. Edith with an aura of mystery sits serenely holding flowers, her head demurely bowed, barefoot, and
12 | Sweet Auburn
Atkins Children, Lot 2339 by Greg Heins, 2014
hair pulled back, her gown slipping from one shoulder. We always approached her quietly as if not to disturb her privacy. She lived from August 21, 1869 to February 8, 1881. Nearby on Lime Avenue we visit the statue of Willie, Mary, and Charlie Atkins, brothers and sister who also died as small children. Many children succumbed from the scourge of illnesses( and lack of medical interventions) afflicting people during the 1800s. The death of children was a common, heart breaking occurrence. With elegant beauty, these monuments portray familial love, unspeakable pain, the innocence of childhood. Immortality is found in the artistry of these sculptures, forcefully implanted in our minds through their tangible forms.
Children die? These statues prompted my children to ask questions about mortality, asked not with fear but with a burgeoning awareness of the mystery of life and its harshness and hope— a gift from Little Leopold, Edith, Willie, Mary, and Charlie, and one that cannot be explained away by adults, but that paved the way to discussion. History gave them the comfort of knowing that science helps us to live longer, healthier lives than the children of the 1800s. With universal optimism and curiosity, they tried to recreate the lives of children who had lived so long ago. They wanted to know if they rode bikes, played video games, and liked ice cream. They believed that the children of Mount Auburn Cemetery received comfort from their proximity to one another in death. Did they play with one another during the still of night? We were discovering a new path— one of growth that connects past, present and future.
Visits to the children of Mount Auburn Cemetery contributed to the way my children learned to approach life with strength, optimism and compassion. Combined with the surprises of bullfrogs and chipmunks, Leopold, Edith, Willie, Mary, and Charlie provided the gift of wisdom and hope.