Roadside Memorials: Sales and Death
Will and I were discussing an exemplary roadside-cross he saw off of I-12 when it occurred to me that, as always, around this tradition an industry must exist.
Indeed, here is roadsidememorials.com, started by two bereaved friends who
“…promise to put our hearts into bringing you and your family comfort in the way of a cross. Our memorial crosses are made of oak, finished with a weather resistant and protective white paint or redwood stain. Each memorial cross is then adorned with a beautiful floral arrangement. A protective picture frame is then placed on the cross for an added reminder of your lost loved one.
We believe that a roadside memorial will not only capture the memory of your loved one, but will also serve as a reminder to all who pass on the road that life is too short and can change in a second, cherish each moment and love while you have the chance. We pray that these crosses can help bring comfort that your loved one will never be forgotten. It has helped us in our grieving process to remember Liz in this manner. It is our intention to reach other grieving families as well.”
Quite typically, reading their site you can experience the odd intersection of commerce and compassion that characterizes mortality-based businesses. The utterly ordinary exclamation marks which follow “Click for order detail” seem suddenly ghastly beside crosses, but their hearts are in the right place.
And if they offer products only for Christians, well: isn’t that their right? Should I complain that there’s nothing there for me? Or would it be worse if they profited from the sales of symbols in which they didn’t believe?
It is problematic -if unavoidable- to apply questions of politics, taste, and tact to this subject, or indeed to the phenomenon of roadside memorials in general: dubious and sincere, ephemera beside our ever-widening corridors of commerce, they are beyond criticism if you have a heart, but odd and sometimes notable for their bizarre iconography: American flags, trucker hats, six-packs of beer.
