As I pulled up to the gates at the cemetery it almost seemed surreal as the thoughts ran through my head almost as a reminder of my reality I have a son who I gave birth to and he is buried here. There's not a day that I have forgotten that, but something about being back there at the cemetery after nearly 5 months seemed to confirm that reality stronger in my mind.
I brought items with me to clean the grave. The cemetery does a great job maintaining the grounds, but I thoughts Luke's headstone might need a little maintenance. It sits under a try that drops these little berry-like things that can leave spots on the granite. I scrubbed down the headstone and removed grass clippings that had pilled up around the edges from a recent grass clipping.
While other moms spend there time wiping down little cheeks that are covered with spoonfuls of baby food that have gone astray, I spend my time careful wiping down the headstone that marks the sacred ground in which my son is buried.
Being there reminded me how much I miss being able to go to the cemetery whenever I wanted. The cemetery is always a quiet, peaceful place to be. I miss being able to go there. I miss the quiet times of reflection that occur there. I miss being able to leave fresh flowers to honor my son.
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