This morning, I saw that my article, “A December Gathering,” is now the most-read piece on Kates-Boylston’s (the parent company of ‘American Cemetery & Cremation’ magazine) website. I was surprised at first, but upon reflection, it makes sense.
Writing about the Eppig mausoleum at St. John Cemetery was one of those rare times when my work as a funeral director and as a writer came together so naturally that they felt like the same calling. The story was not just about a mausoleum; it was about legacy, reunion, and the quiet strength of a place meant to hold a family’s history.
A year ago, on an unseasonably warm December morning, I met members of the Eppig family at the mausoleum. Some of them were cousins meeting for the very first time. There was something almost cinematic about it: the soft winter light, the stillness of the cemetery, the sense that time had briefly loosened its grip so the past and present could stand in the same room.
When we stepped inside, the caskets were intact—an unexpected and deeply emotional discovery. You could feel the weight of it settle over everyone. This wasn’t just architecture or genealogy. It was their great‑great‑grandfather, the noted 19th century brewer Leonhard Eppig, and the generations who followed him. The mausoleum became a central point of connection, a physical anchor for a family whose branches had stretched far beyond their original Brooklyn roots.
Watching them take it in—seeing recognition, pride, grief, and wonder move across their faces—reminded me exactly what cemeteries are for. They are not simply places of rest; they are places of return. They gather people back to themselves.
Writing that article gave me deeper insight into why I do this work. These are the stories that make life as a funeral director so meaningful. They offer me a front‑row seat to the ways families rediscover each other, reclaim their history, and find beauty in the continuity of their lineage. And as a writer, moments like this sharpen my understanding of legacy, emotion, and the quiet truths that live inside every mausoleum, every headstone, every name carved in stone.
It was more than an article. It was a reminder that storytelling—like funeral service—is an act of preservation. And when the two come together, the result can be unexpectedly powerful.
The Morte Girls 