*This post talks about death and grief. Please take care of yourself while reading.
An unexpected spring visit to a cemetery in Melbourne, turned into a reflection on wisteria flowers, remembering loved ones and why we shouldn’t wait until someone is gone to celebrate them. *my mom helped with this topic name which I also thought was spot on!
We Went Looking for Wisteria.
We Found Something Else.
This topic might turn a few heads.
I know visiting a cemetery for its flowers probably isn’t everyone’s idea of a lovely day out. But I’ve always found inspiration in unexpected places, and I wanted to share a different perspective.
Since spring arrived in Melbourne, Mum and I had been wanting to see the wisteria in bloom.
Mum had been researching it for a while, and we learned that those beautiful purple flowers only last a few weeks each year.
So the clock was ticking.
The problem? Our schedules weren’t cooperating. Wednesdays were usually my only free day, but Mum had started working some Wednesdays too. Every plan we made fell through, and with each week the blooms were getting closer to disappearing for another year.
Finally, we both had a Monday free. We had a spot in mind, but it turned out to be closed that day.
So Mum did what Mum does best.
She Googled.
And somehow discovered that nearby, there was a cemetery with beautiful wisteria growing over its trellises.
A cemetery.
Well, that wasn’t exactly where I expected our little spring outing to take us.
Finding Beauty in an Unexpected Place
I’ll admit, I felt a little uncomfortable about the idea at first.
Visiting a cemetery to admire flowers?
Was that insensitive?
Would people think we were being disrespectful?
I completely understand that cemeteries are deeply personal places, especially for families who are grieving.
But the more I thought about it, the more I wondered:
Why shouldn’t a place dedicated to remembering the dead also be a place where we appreciate life?
Flowers bloom.
Birds sing.
Trees grow.
The seasons continue changing.
And in the middle of it all are memorials dedicated to people who once walked through this world just like we do.
Of course, we were mindful of the families visiting and respectful of the graves and memorials around us. We weren’t there to disturb anyone’s moment of remembrance.
But I also don’t believe that appreciating the beauty of a cemetery is inherently disrespectful.
If anything, I found it quite comforting.
Maybe because, for me, cemeteries have never been only about sadness. Being there brought back memories of my Lolo (grandpa in tagalog), and I’ll share more about him a little later.
And with Halloween approaching, the timing felt strangely appropriate. Although, admittedly, this was a much more peaceful experience than anything spooky.
*pictured are empty graves, just two sculpture love birds
Every Grave Had a Story
What started as a little photography outing became something Mum and I both naturally love doing: observing.
We wandered slowly through the cemetery, noticing the small details people had left behind. I only photographed the wisteria, out of respect for the families and the memorials around us.
Some graves were covered in fresh flowers. Others held photographs, handwritten messages and treasured personal belongings. One had a miniature aeroplane. Another had a soccer ball. One even had marathon medals.
I found that fascinating, because suddenly these weren’t just names and dates engraved in stone. They were glimpses into people’s lives.
Someone must have loved flying.
Someone must have been passionate about football.
Someone must have spent hours training for marathons.
And I even spotted a TV remote on one memorial. I couldn’t help smiling, wondering if she had once fought her husband for control of the screen. Who knows?
We found ourselves quietly wondering about the people behind these tributes, talking about who they might have been and the lives they had lived. Not in a way that made light of their passing, but with genuine curiosity and respect.
I’m sure every person resting there had a story. A personality. A favourite food. A terrible joke. People they loved, and people who loved them.
And somehow, even after death, little pieces of who they were were still being shared with the world.
Loved, Even After They’re Gone
This was the part that stayed with me the most: seeing how much care people had put into remembering their loved ones.
The fresh flowers. The gifts. The little trinkets. The time and effort it takes to visit, tidy and maintain a memorial.
I thought about how beautiful it is that someone can be loved so deeply that people keep showing up for them long after they’ve passed away. Death might end a life, but it doesn’t necessarily end the love people have for them.
And I think there’s something incredibly human about that.
We find ways to keep people present, through photographs, stories, objects, traditions and special places. Even something as simple as leaving their favourite flower can be a way of saying, “You still matter.”
It also made me think about the people who pass away without that same recognition. The people who don’t have family nearby. The people whose stories go untold. The people the wider world has forgotten.
Not everyone has a beautifully decorated memorial, and an undecorated grave doesn’t mean someone wasn’t loved.
But seeing so many personal tributes reminded me how remarkable it is that we keep caring for one another, even when there’s nothing left to receive in return.
It’s love without expectation.
And I think that’s beautiful.
Remembering the Dead Doesn’t Have to Be Only About Sadness
Standing in that cemetery made me think about how differently cultures around the world approach death and remembrance.
In Mexico, Día de los Muertos, or Day of the Dead, is a tradition where families honour and remember loved ones who have passed away. Rather than focusing only on loss, the celebration is full of colour, with flowers, food, photographs and offerings placed on altars for the people being remembered.
I love that idea.
Not because grief disappears, but because remembrance can hold both sadness and celebration.
Here in Australia, funerals and memorials can also be a celebration of life, though the way people grieve varies enormously between families and cultures. There’s no single right way to remember someone.
As a Filipino, I grew up seeing a version of this that isn’t as different as you might think.
We do mourn, and we mourn for a while. There’s usually a wake, called a lamay, where family and friends gather for days to pray, keep the family company and say goodbye. After the funeral, many families continue with prayers for several days.
But the wake is also a time when people come together. There’s food, stories and conversation, and sometimes even laughter as people share memories. Many families also play card games late into the night, partly to keep each other company and partly to keep the mood from becoming too heavy.
And every year around 1 November, many Filipino families celebrate Undas, visiting the graves of their loved ones to clean them, light candles, offer prayers and share a meal together. Cemeteries that are usually quiet become full of people, flowers, food and conversation.
So in my culture, a cemetery isn’t only a place of sadness. It’s also a place where families gather, remember and stay connected.
Personally, I’ve never believed that honouring a loved one has to be entirely sorrowful. And I think a big part of that comes from my own experience growing up.
Remembering My Lolo
When my Lolo, my grandfather (Lolo in Tagalog), passed away, I was the only grandchild who attended his wake, funeral and burial. I spent around one to two weeks with family as we mourned him. (i think i was only 10)
It was sad, of course. Seeing my mum, one of the strongest people in my life, at her weakest is something I’ll never forget.
But strangely, it was also beautiful.
I got to see what a community can be. All seven of his kids were there. Relatives who hadn’t seen one another in years reunited. My mum’s former students came to pay their respects. Friends and family shared stories, and I met so many people in my family for the first time.
And the whole time, it never felt like a purely sorrowful event. I think that’s exactly how my Lolo would have wanted it. He would have wanted us to be happy and to celebrate his life.
He was an architect who helped many people build their homes, and he often didn’t ask for a cent. My Lola (grandma) still jokes that this is why they never became rich. He was a wonderful public speaker and a true people person, caring, loving and kind. Even in his passing, he brought people together.
That’s something I’ve carried with me ever since.
I don’t associate funerals or cemeteries with only sadness, because I’ve seen how much love can exist in those spaces.
Grief and gratitude can coexist. You can miss someone terribly and still smile when you remember them. You can cry at a funeral and laugh a few minutes later because someone shares a ridiculous story.
To me, that doesn’t make the occasion any less meaningful.
It makes it human.
His birthday is tomorrow, and I’m writing this missing him. I wish he could see where I am now. I’d like to think he’s watching over me, because what are the odds that I’d end up writing about this? It wasn’t planned. It just felt right
He is someone I look up to every day, and if I could be even half as good a person as my Lolo, I’d be proud.
Photo taken in Lake Titicaca, Peru
Why Do We Wait Until Someone Dies to Celebrate Them?
This was the thought that followed me home from the cemetery.
Why do we sometimes wait until someone has passed away to say all the beautiful things we think about them?
At funerals, people travel across the country, and sometimes across the world, to be together. They make time. They share memories. They talk about how generous someone was, how funny they were, how much they meant to everyone and how they changed people’s lives.
And I always wonder: did that person know how loved they were while they were still here?
We have birthdays, anniversaries and celebrations throughout our lives, but there’s something particularly genuine about the way people come together after a loss. Suddenly, everyone remembers what’s important. The disagreements seem smaller. The busy schedules matter less. People make the effort to reconnect.
I wish we didn’t need something as heartbreaking as death to remind us to do that.
I wish we celebrated the people we love more while they’re still with us. Told our friends what we appreciate about them. Visited our grandparents more often. Made time for family dinners. Reached out to the people we haven’t spoken to in years. Not because something terrible happened, but simply because we wanted to.
If you’re reading this with a pang of regret, please be gentle with yourself. Life gets busy, and all of us do the best we can with the time we have. It’s never about guilt. It’s just a reminder that today is a good day to reach out.
Photo taken on top of Peace Pagoda in Pokhara Nepal
Finding Peace in a Troubled World
I know the world feels like a pretty troubled place at the moment.
There’s so much conflict, division, uncertainty and sadness around us, and it’s easy to focus on how unkind people can be.
But walking through that cemetery reminded me of another side of humanity.
The side that remembers.
That grieves.
That continues to love.
That leaves flowers for someone who can no longer say thank you.
We often talk about humanity through the terrible things we’re capable of doing. But I think we should also pay attention to the beautiful things people continue to do, even when nobody is watching.
Like tending to a loved one’s grave years after they’ve passed. Or leaving a tiny soccer ball beside a memorial because you remember how much they loved the game. Or simply showing up.
Perhaps that’s what I found most peaceful about our visit. In a place surrounded by reminders of death, I found so much evidence of love.
Beyond the Wisteria
It’s funny. Mum and I originally set out to photograph some flowers before their short spring season ended. And yes, the wisteria was beautiful. (I photographed only the wisteria, not the memorials or other visitors.)
But what I remember most isn’t just the purple flowers hanging from the trellises.
It’s the stories. The little objects. The memories of my Lolo.
And the reminder that life is incredibly temporary. Just like the wisteria, we’re only here for a season.
I don’t say that to make life sound depressing. Quite the opposite. I think it’s a reason to appreciate what we have while it’s here. To be a little kinder. To make time. To celebrate people before they become memories.
And to remember that even in places we associate with sadness, there’s still so much beauty to be found.
We went looking for flowers. We came home thinking about love.
Before I finish, I wanted to recommend a beautiful book called The Vanishing Cherry Blossom Tree.
It’s one of those books that really stayed with me and helped shape how I see death, love and joy coexisting.
I shed a few tears reading it, but it also warmed my heart. It reminded me that grief doesn’t always have to be filled with sadness. We can miss someone deeply while still finding happiness in the memories they left behind.
If this blog resonated with you, I highly recommend giving it a read.
If You’re Grieving, You Don’t Have to Go Through It Alone
While I’ve shared a more comforting perspective on death, I understand that grief looks different for everyone. Not everyone finds peace in it, and that’s okay.
If you’re grieving or simply need someone to talk to, here are some Australian support services:
Grief Australia — Grief counselling, information and support.
Griefline — Grief support information and referrals: 1300 845 745.
Lifeline — 24/7 emotional and crisis support: 13 11 14.
Beyond Blue — Mental health support: 1300 22 4636.
And if there’s one thing I hope you take away from this blog, it’s this:
Don’t wait until someone is gone to tell them how much they mean to you.
Make time, reconnect and celebrate the people you love while they’re still here.
I’ve always loved exploring the world through photography, whether that’s travelling overseas or discovering somewhere unexpected around Melbourne.
Beyond The Postcards is my personal collection of places, people and experiences that have changed the way I see the world.
Sometimes it’s a country on the other side of the world. And sometimes it’s a cemetery filled with spring flowers and stories of people I’ve never met.
