Whatever Happened To Baby Jane?
A recent conversation between MUC and The Mother (his Nana) led me to overhear the following: "...well, we went to church. And then we came home and changed clothes. And then we went back to church and took pictures of the waterfall. And then we went to the cemetery and took some more pictures..."
I suppose it might seems strange, my fascination with monuments to the dead. It may be doubly strange that I would take my child to the cemetery for such an excursion, when I won't take them to familial funerals. I've taken a lot of flack from certain members of the family for not exposing my children to the trial that is a family death trial. But I digress. I was talking about my fascination with cemeteries and the oddity in that. Then again, those that know me might say that there's no end to what I might find fascinating, and therefore, I'm just strange, period. At any rate, the monuments the living resurrect to the dead always fascinate me. Those they resurrect to themselves can be fascinating as well. However, today, we're talking about the deceased.
Augusta, Georgia being a good, historical type city, has its share of really good mementos and monuments to the dearly departed. Some of the best of them are in Magnolia Cemetery, probably the oldest, most well know of the cemeteries in the area. It doesn't have the age or cache' that some of the Savannah sites have, or to be blunt, the artistry, but it does have some really nice quality work displayed. What's left of it, that is.
MUC and I made a trek down to Magnolia Cemetery on Sunday, and this is the first time in the 
12+ years I've lived here I've really looked at the monuments. My original intent was to shoot pictures of whatever interested me. I would take pictures of monuments that spoke to me, or that offered some visual interest. What caught my attention wasn't artistry or workmanship or even a touching moment. It was decay. What is touted as the city's grand dame of cemeteries is crumbling around her knees. It's heartbreaking. There is evidence of thought, money and effort people spent to physically eulogize and remember their loved ones, and time has not been kind to many.
12+ years I've lived here I've really looked at the monuments. My original intent was to shoot pictures of whatever interested me. I would take pictures of monuments that spoke to me, or that offered some visual interest. What caught my attention wasn't artistry or workmanship or even a touching moment. It was decay. What is touted as the city's grand dame of cemeteries is crumbling around her knees. It's heartbreaking. There is evidence of thought, money and effort people spent to physically eulogize and remember their loved ones, and time has not been kind to many.
As a result, MUC and I spent most of our time looking and shooting what he came to call the "broken" ones. As we parked, we immediately found the first victim, Mr. Philipp. Obviously, someone tried to assist, and the epoxy used did, indeed, reattach the broken portion of the stone. Unfortunately, it wasn't cleaned in any manner. It also obliterates an entire line of beautiful Hebrew on back side of the marker. 
Truthfully, I'm not sure how I feel about this. Was t his some well meaning, but obviously misinformed worker? A family member? Is the badly repaired stone really any of my business? Given the number of broken and uncared for stones I found later in my walk, it's obvious this stone was cared for by someone. Perhaps it's best that the stone and its deceased owner has someone who still cares enough to offer a repair job, even a poor one.From here, much of the cemetery is as you might expect. But, much of it is not.
And, even given the sad state of the markers, there's something even more pitiful in this cemetery. Magnolia's version of Potter's Field. Here rest those who have no one. In this plot of land lies one small grave that just pulls at something tangible inside me every time I see it.
It's visceral the maternal tug I get when I see this. She obviously touched someone else, as her grave has a layer of oyster shells that the other graves close to her don't have. She has a purchased marble marker, also something the other closer graves don't have. For a long time, I thought maybe she was an abandoned baby from the medical college to which the nurses and doctors had developed an attachment. But something pulled at me to find out the real story. And I went digging, which was pitifully easy on the new online grave records. This is what I found.
It's visceral the maternal tug I get when I see this. She obviously touched someone else, as her grave has a layer of oyster shells that the other graves close to her don't have. She has a purchased marble marker, also something the other closer graves don't have. For a long time, I thought maybe she was an abandoned baby from the medical college to which the nurses and doctors had developed an attachment. But something pulled at me to find out the real story. And I went digging, which was pitifully easy on the new online grave records. This is what I found.Infant Jane was stillborn in November of 1993. The records of the cemetery say this:
BURIED IN 43" LONG & 18" WIDE CASKET ON COUNCIL GROUNDS -
S. OF 9TH ST. & E. OF ESTES AVE. (S. OF JOSEPH IANNTUANNA & 2ND SPACE S.
OF COLETTE SMITH ( BOTH CREMATED). INFANT FOUND IN N. AUGUSTA, S.C. RECYCING
CENTER; AUGUSTA SANITATION TRUCK DEPOSITED THE INFANT AT THE CENTER ALONG WITH
TRASH PICKED UP IN AUGUSTA'S HILL AREA " SUMMERVILLE".
Someone placed this child in the trash. I'm so conflicted I don't know what to think. On one side, I can't think of anything awful enough to call them. I can't think of anything horrid enough to wish upon someone who could leave a child in the trash. But then I know I should think more charitably towards the unfortunate soul who found themselves alone with a stillborn child. Going through childbirth alone, being scared, only to find the baby dead upon its arrival. I know would be. And through it all, a lost little girl has nothing. Not name, no home, no life, no one to mourn her, claim her, grieve for her in public. For me, it pushes every maternal buttons I have.
Do I have answers or plans or a conclusion to this? Not really. But Baby Jane is talking very loudly to me. I'm just not sure what she's trying to tell me.
