These are my Dead.
Growing up, I thought that everyone had their own Dead. It was only later I learned that in fact no, most people did not their own Dead - or at least their Dead all in one place, that they were scattered out hither and yon, a continually growing root system as people and families moved.
I have no idea who Sua Long Bing was, or how they came to be here. I can see from the name plate that they passed on 04 August 1957 and their age was listed as 113; I believe memory serves that their spouse was the other nameplate. If true, that means they died very far home and undoubtedly without anyone left to remember them.
They, too, are now my Dead.
With burial of my Aunt J, the graveyard will begin to reach the end of its lifespan. My mother will undoubtedly be placed there someday, as will their older brother, my uncle. But of their generation, no-one goes there now or has gone there for many years - as mentioned above, as families have spread out, the dead lay where they lived and no-one left of my mother's generation may remember it is here. I am sure beyond my sister and my cousins, no-one in my generation remembers it is there either. And with those two burials, it is likely that none of them will have reason to return.
It will fall to me.
I will become the Rememberer, the Old Mortality of Sir Walter's Scott's book of the same name, wandering among the gravestones, the last caretaker of four generations to do so. It is not so much as a task given as a task unconsciously appointed. Someone has to do this, in some way to keep the dead in memory and honor. Not that such a loss of memory will matter to them of course, or to the world at large.
It will, however, matter to me.