Alexandra Kathryn Mosca — Exploring Life and Death: A Writer's Journey

Love stories are not confined to novels or cinema; many of the most enduring are written quietly into the landscapes of our cemeteries. For the February issue of American Cemetery & Cremation magazine, I turned to five couples whose devotion did not end at death but instead reshaped the spaces where they rest. Their monuments—some intimate, some grand, all deeply personal—offer a glimpse into how grief, memory, and love take physical form. From a Brooklyn mausoleum furnished like a home, to a grieving sculptor’s masterpiece in Rome, to the whimsical heart‑shaped stone of an artist’s muse, these memorials reveal the lengths to which the bereaved will go to remain close to the ones they loved.

Jonathan and Mary Reed — Cemetery of the Evergreens, Brooklyn

In 1893, as Mary Reed lay dying, her husband of 35 years vowed never to leave her. He kept that promise by building a mausoleum where he spent nearly every day for the next twelve years. Mary’s casket included a glass window so he could look upon her face; in 1903 he remarked, “She has changed little in the ten years that she has lain in her casket.”

Reed furnished the mausoleum like their home—rugs, curtains, wedding china, a potbelly stove, paintings, travel souvenirs, even their stuffed pet parrot hanging in a cage. Outside, he planted the same flowers Mary had loved.

Newspapers chronicled his vigil, drawing thousands of curious visitors. Some saw him as eccentric; others believed he possessed insight into the afterlife. Reed insisted he simply wished to remain with his wife: “I shall make the best of this life and be with my wife while I can.”

In 1905 he suffered a stroke inside the mausoleum and died months later. At his funeral, crowds watched as he was entombed beside Mary. The doors were sealed forever, his spare key tossed inside.

William and Emelyn Story — Protestant Cemetery, Rome

In Rome’s famed Protestant Cemetery—resting place of Keats and Shelley—stands the “Angel of Grief,” the final masterpiece of sculptor and writer William Wetmore Story. The monument marks the graves of Story and his wife Emelyn, whose closeness was legendary among their literary circle, including the Brownings, Hawthorne, and Henry James.

After Emelyn’s death in 1894, Story was inconsolable. “She was my life, my joy,” he wrote. At his children’s urging, he returned to his studio only long enough to create her monument: an angel collapsed in grief over a funeral altar. When it was finished, he never sculpted again.

The work, praised by Henry James for its emotional intensity, inspired replicas across the United States and Canada. Story died in 1895, only months after completing the sculpture.

Marc and Bella Chagall — Westchester Hills Cemetery, Hastings-on-Hudson

Marc Chagall and Bella Rosenfeld fell in love at first sight in 1909 in Vitebsk. Both later wrote about that moment—he describing her eyes as “my soul,” she recalling his as “blue as the sky.” Married in 1914, they survived war, revolution, and exile before settling in France, where Bella became Chagall’s muse and the heart of his art.

Her death in 1944 devastated him. He designed her whimsical heart‑shaped monument, engraved with her name and a small Star of David. It would be a year before he painted again; his first work showed Bella being carried heavenward by a great bird. Though he remarried, Bella remained the central love of his life.

Charles and Jane Griffith — Green‑Wood Cemetery, Brooklyn

For more than a century, visitors to Green‑Wood have been drawn to the poignant story carved into Jane Griffith’s monument—a marble recreation of her final morning.

In the summer of 1857, Charles Griffith paused at the gate of their Manhattan home to say goodbye to his wife, as he did every day. When he returned that evening, Jane, just 40, was dead. Devastated, Griffith commissioned renowned sculptor Patrizio Piatti to immortalize their last farewell in stone.

Working from a photograph of Jane and careful study of the Griffith home, Piatti created a detailed tableau: Jane stands on the brownstone steps, shawl around her shoulders, their dog at her side. Charles, in stovepipe hat and swallowtail coat, turns back at the gate to bid her goodbye, while a horse‑drawn trolley waits in the background. Above the scene is carved “Jane My Wife,” with 1858—the year of the monument’s completion—beneath the frieze.

Griffith visited Jane’s grave faithfully, even after remarrying. His second wife, Jennie, a published poet, died in 1869 and her name was added to the stone. When Griffith died in 1882, he was buried beside Jennie, in the grave adjacent to Jane.

The monument has been widely written about and is considered one of Piatti’s most significant works.

Lawrence and Elvira Wegielski — Woodlawn Cemetery, Bronx

Lawrence and Elvira “Ve‑Ve” Wegielski were inseparable during their 25‑year marriage, whether working long hours in their Mt. Vernon liquor store or simply enjoying life together. After her death in 1994, Lawrence built a pink‑granite mausoleum—her favorite color—furnished with items from their home, including their crystal chandelier.

He visited several times a week, tending the grounds, reading the newspaper aloud, eating lunch, and playing her favorite Italian songs. “I made this as a home, not a morbid thing,” he said. Holidays brought decorations: Christmas lights, Valentine hearts, Easter wreaths.

Five years later he found companionship with widow Susan Domanico, yet he continued honoring Elvira. His poem “Side by Side” appeared in print on what would have been her 75th birthday. When Lawrence died in 2010, he was entombed beside her, beneath their shared motto: Side by Side, Baby.