|A red rose for my mom. A white rose for my dad.|
I know that visiting the grave site after a death of a loved one is an important part of the healing for some people. I have known friends who held full one-sided conversations with the person who died while standing at the grave. They bring flowers, they clean off the memorial, they say prayers. It is a very personal connection they feel.
I have never felt that way about where she is laid to rest. The essence of who she was is no longer on this earth. Her life and my memories of her are housed inside me. I carry her with me every day. Sometimes I look in the mirror and marvel that I look a lot like her. I do think of her often - usually when I am alone during quiet times. Sometimes I am in tears as I think of what we lived through together. Sometimes the memories cause me to smile. But mostly I am just sad - and miss seeing her face.
Mother's Day seemed like the perfect day for this visit. I wanted to be sure her grave marker was correct and properly mounted, and that I could remember exactly where her grave was since it is a very large cemetery. I was distracted at the grave site service in January.
All was well. At first I was surprised that her grave was not totally grassed over, but then I realized that they probably didn't seed it until late April. New grass wouldn't grow in January. Silly me.
The cemetery was busy. I guess many people choose Mother's Day or Father's Day to visit their parents. I know I will return next Mother's Day - but I will be back again before then.
Meanwhile ... she is remembered ... and loved ... and missed ... still.