What Makes a Good Death?

"No Name" by Albrecht Graf Wickenburg

In the dark of elm trees, shaded

crosses stare upon the faded

Danube strand.

But no epitaph is keeping

record of the drowned here sleeping

in the sand.

Quiet are the verdant meadows

and the Danube's rolling shadows

make no sound.

They are sleeping here together,

whom the river's silent tether

brought around.

All, who here are congregating,

drove despair in waves, abating

fate and shame.

Hence their crosses, solitary

like the crosses they did carry,

spell: "No Name".

This is the poem at the gate of the "Friedhof der Namenlosen" or "Cemetery of the Nameless." I visited this cemetery on my first day in Vienna. It was quite ironic because right before that, I was at the Zentralfriedhof or Central Cemetery where people I consider legendary (like Beethoven and Viktor Frankl) were buried.

It made me think how a simple epitaph on a gravestone makes a world of difference. When we die, people's memory of how we had lived somehow immortalizes us. Like when you see an epitaph saying "Wife, Mother, Friend," you would know whom this person meant so much to.

Most of the people who were buried at the Cemetery of the Nameless died because of suicide; their bodies were found on the bank of the Danube River. They might have been buried properly, but no one had an idea what their full names were, why they died, who their families were, what jobs they had, what their passions were. Some of these people died at 60. They might have children and grandchildren. They might have lived rich and happy lives at some point, but because they were buried without a name, it's like not having lived in this world at all.

I told the woman I met at the train about my visit and showed her the pictures. She told me something very touching. She has a friend who visits the cemetery twice a week. She does not have any idea how the people who were buried there lived, but it's her simple way of acknowledging that they lived.

Until now, I am still quite confused on how I feel about it.

On the one hand, it would be great to be remembered by future generations. It would be great to have your name spoken even by those who have not come to know you when you were still alive.

On the other hand, the people buried at the Cemetery of the Nameless may have touched lives around them and inspired people in their own time (something future generations will never come to know). And maybe to them, that was the only thing that mattered.