It has been almost exactly 18 months since my Mom died of brain cancer. Since she passed, I have visited California three times. I finally went to visit her on this most recent trip.
I wanted to see my Mom on those other trips and even in the month that I stayed in California after the funeral. I wanted to see the headstone that I designed. I wanted to make sure her little space was clean and well-kept. I wanted to feel what it was like to sit with her (buried) body.
...I just couldn't.
I knew that I had to visit her this trip. It was time. I regretted not going when I was home last time. I tried everything in my power to be "too busy" to stop by the cemetery and used every excuse imaginable not to make it over there again this time but I knew the time had come. I needed to go sit with my Mom.
I knew that I would cry. I am a crier by nature and the pregnancy hormones intensify everything. Tears began to fall as soon as I forced myself to turn onto the cemetery's street. As I parked in front of her final resting place and got out of the car, I began to weep as I couldn't remember exactly where her little spot was. I picked that little space for her body to be buried. I should KNOW where my Mom is; but I didn't. It took me a minute or so to find her spot and her little grave stone. I fell to my knees and wept on her stone.
I rubbed the words inscribed on her stone and sobbed as I thought about how special she was. I wept for my grief but even more so, I wept for her. She has missed so much already. She should be here to celebrate these lives that she created. She should be here. Alive. Not dead.