Today I went up toward Mirogoj Cemetery, just like so many others on All Saints’ Day. The air was heavy with the scent of candles and chrysanthemums, and the city felt quieter than usual.
On my way back, I passed a small stone plaque along the old tram route. I stopped. It marked the place where, on October 31, 1954, a tram lost its brakes while descending this hill. Nineteen people died that morning. They were on their way to Mirogoj, just like the rest of us today — to visit, remember, light a candle.
Standing there, looking down the steep road, I could almost feel how terrifying that ride must have been. The plaque is easy to miss, but once you notice it, it stays with you.
All Saints’ Day reminds us to honor those who came before us, but sometimes it also asks us to remember the ones who never made it home.
