http://loraleeslooneytunes.com/2007/11/29/her/
I visited my son's grave today.
There was no special reason. No holiday or anniversary. No family or
friends that live far away who wanted to pay their respects. I was just
driving and saw the snow on the ground and wanted to check on my son,
clean up his grave, and remove the decorations that I put up for Autumn.
Matthew is buried in a beautiful spot. We put him next to family, a
cousin of Jonathan's that was killed in a car crash with his grandmother
when she was only 19. It makes me feel better that his cousin is close
by. I will be buried near him, but not next to him because that space
was occupied, which makes me very sad.
It used to make me angry.
The grave right next to my son is occupied by what they call a "Pauper
grave". Meaning, that the plot was donated and the family doesn't have
the resources for a headstone. There is a metal marker that has an index
card with typing on it. The womans name has been obliterated. All I know
is that death occurred in July of 1998 and that she was only 41 at the
time of passing.
In the four years since my Little Bug has passed, my feelings about
"Her" have changed. It"s still hard to know that this stranger gets a
place that I yearn to have, but instead of being angry, I began to be
curious about this neighbor of my son. Who was she? What was she like?
Did she have any family?
It's hard not to think about "Her" when I visit the cemetery. She makes
her presence known. That marker is quite close to Bug's headstone and
has very sharp corners. I don’t think that there has been a gathering
there where someone's pants, legs or coat don't get ripped on the edges
of that sharp, cold metal.
I also notice her because she has never, ever had one flower or sign of
visitation in all the years I've been going to see my boy. It made me
feel so bad for this woman.
For "Her".
My family felt bad as well. So now, whenever we decorate or bring things
to Bug, we put a little something on her grave, too. It's the least I
can do for someone who will lay next to my little one for all time.
It has come to give me a little comfort in a place and situation that is
terrible.
Going to the cemetery to see my son is very difficult for me. I don't go
there often. I know that many people take comfort in visiting the graves
of their loved ones, it brings them peace. It is not that I don't WANT
to go. I do. Because I miss my son. There are times where my desire to
go and be in the same proximity of where my baby boy is is so
overwhelming that I've gone up in the middle of the night in my pajamas,
just to lay down on the grass and cry.
Still...Being there is very hard on me.
I am a highly tangible person. When Matthew died, I ran around like a
crazy person buying duplicates of every toy, blanket and special outfit
I could find. Because I wanted him to be buried with the things that he
loved in life, but I could. not. part. with. them. I needed those things
to hold, cuddle, smell and cherish.
It's hard for me to visit the place where he is buried because it is
horrible for me to picture what has become of the little body that I
loved and watched over. It's hard to be there freezing and ****vering and
not freak out because I can't do anything to make him warm. I know it
makes no sense. I know that he can't feel anything, but BABIES ARE NOT
SUPPOSED TO BE COLD.
Not MY babies.
Not on MY watch.
I am very forgiving of people who "Say the wrong thing" to me. Really, I
am. I know that you just don't know what to say. Who would? Even I get
tongue-tied around grief and loss like mine and have difficulty knowing
the right words to utter, so how on earth could I get upset with someone
who is just trying to give me comfort?
Still...There are things that hurt. That frustrate and anger. Every
person who has a loss like this has a "Trigger phrase" that is
intolerable to them. The worst one for me is when someone that is well
meaning tells me not to worry about the physical body of my son and that
he is buried.
"You need to know he isn't THERE anymore."
Oh, YEAH?
I beg to differ.
To me, he IS there!
What I loved, bathed, snuggled, lotioned, sang to and kissed IS BURIED
RIGHT THERE UNDER SIX FEET OF EARTH AND HORRIBLE, TERRIBLE THINGS ARE
HAPPENING TO HIS SWEET LITTLE BODY. And there is not one damn thing that
I can do about it. Me, his mother. His protector. The person who is
supposed to stop any and all bad things from touching his sweet toes is
completely powerless to do or change anything about it.
I try very, very hard to not go there in my head, but some days it is
just takes over and I'm sent to this special kind of hell. It's more
than I can bear.
So, going to see him at this place, this tangible reminder of the worst
day of my life, is hard to do. To get through it I take comfort in
whatever I can, whenever I can.
And today?
I got a little bit.
I parked my car, walked to Bug's grave and saw that someone brought
flowers to "Her".
Someone remembered she was there.
Finally.
Even better? There was a card. Maybe I shouldn't have read it, but after
so many years and so much wondering, I had to know something about her.
It was a simple statement written on the back of a Winnie-the-Pooh
florist card:
"Mom, We love you and miss you dearly - The 4 of us are all here
together for the first time at your grave since July 9, 1998. Love,
Michael, Angie, Tony (Dad), Brandy".
It made me ridiculously happy. While there is still no first or last
name that I can give to "Her", I know that she had the best name ever:
MOM.
She had a family. Loved ones. People that loved her and cared about her
and missed her. People that I could see, for whatever reason, were not
able to watch over her final resting place and tend to her as they would
like to.
I also felt grateful. Grateful that as long as I draw breath and have
family, my child's resting place will not be forgotten, but cared for
and loved and watched over.
So will "Hers".
I'll make sure of it.
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