A Hidden Cemetery in the Forest: A Testament to Love and Loss
I set out today expecting nothing more than a quiet hike, a chance to breathe in the crisp air and let my thoughts wander. Instead, I stumbled upon something that stopped me in my tracks: a small pet cemetery nestled among the trees, lovingly built by the people who once walked this very forest with their dogs.
There were no grand signs or official markers, just simple graves, each dedicated to a beloved companion. Flowers rested on every mound, and pictures of the departed dogs, some smiling, some frozen in old age, bore silent witness to the love that remained.
And then, I saw Jomi’s grave: “When tomorrow will start without me, do not believe that I am far away from you, because every time you think about me, I am there in your heart.”
Jomi had lived for twenty years, two decades of love, of companionship, of countless walks through this very forest. I stood there, reading the inscription, and before I knew it, tears welled up in my eyes. It was not just the words but the immense care behind them, the quiet proof that love does not end with death.
As I walked through the pet cemetery, I read other names, each a story in itself: Kia, a small Chihuahua who shared thirteen years with her family; Bobi, a German Shepherd mix who spent eleven years by someone’s side; Alsa, who lived through more than a decade, likely running through this very forest long before I ever set foot here; Biju and Aris, gone but not forgotten, their resting places marked with flowers and photographs.
The entire forest floor was covered in Liverleaves and Dogtooth Violets, delicate blue and purple flowers that seemed to bring their own quiet homage to the lost pets. As the wind moved through the trees, the petals swayed gently, as if nature itself was mourning alongside the people who had loved these animals.
Each of these dogs had once walked these trails, noses in the air, tails wagging, never thinking that one day their footprints would fade. But their humans, those who loved them, refused to let them disappear completely.
I later looked up whether Cluj has a pet cemetery and found that the mayor has plans to build one nearby. But this place, built with no formal permission, no bureaucracy, no official recognition, is something different. It is raw, intimate, and deeply human. It is a space where grief and love intertwine, where people refuse to let their companions be forgotten.
It made me think about why we mourn our pets the way we do. Perhaps because they love us without hesitation, without conditions. Perhaps because, in their quiet presence, we find comfort in a world that is often too loud.
As I left, I found myself looking back one more time. And I thought of Jomi, Kia, Bobi, Alsa, Biju, and Aris, of the people who still visit them, whispering their names into the wind.
Because every time we think of them, they are there in our hearts.
