Journal Entry March 25, 2008 66 inches

Sixty six inches. That's all there was. That's how many inches separated us this morning, if you count the flower can as 6 inches closer. I kneeled on the ground. I let my legs get wet and muddy. My knees were slighlty stained green. My face was stained drippy black. My fingernails were gritty with sand. I knimbly picked at the crabgrass around the flower can.

I was drawn there today. Out of compulsion, I drove there, found her plot and dug right in. Literally. I had no intentions of going there today, but as soon as I arrived, I felt this almost magnetic pull from the center of my being. It pulled me down to the ground. To get as close as I could to where she is. I wanted to lay flat ontop of her, but it was too wet. Not just damp, but really wet. So instead, I just kneeled and streched out. I had a clump of grass and dirt in my hand and the little roots that clung to the sand looked like her curly hair. I almost brought it home with me, but didn't.

I hardly ever go to the cemetery. But today, I just needed to be there. I laid my hands streched out on the wet grass and bawled my eyes out. One of the hardest cries I've had. Sobbing. Just sobbing.

I felt like I wanted to talk to her, tell her that I haven't forgotten her. Tell her that I love her. But she can't hear me. So I told Jesus. It didn't make me feel much better, but it helped a bit. I just needed to be there today. I needed to whisper her name. So many of the graves around her were decorated for Easter. Even those of the old people that have died at least 10-20 years ago. Somebody's mother, I'm sure. There's angels, fake flowers, candles... all kinds of stuff set out to mark the graves, but we don't even have a headstone for her. We wanted to get just the "right one" then let it slide from us. This was her Daddy's project. I was going to stay out of it. But then it was forgotten about.

I feel like such a crappy mom. Have I forgotten what she looks like? How did she smell? What did the weight of her feel like in my arms. I regret that my sister did not get to see her. My friends were there, but my sister should have been. I saw the dumb tin can for the flowers and noticed how the caretakers have edged the grass around it. I was thankful for that. That they are taking care of her. She's been there one summer already. But you can barely tell that she is there. The grass is green and lush. The plots are close together and there is nothing that signifies that my daughter is in there. Except the flower can.

There is a Magnolia tree planted nearby, so I took off a slip of a branch to bring home to transplant in our own back yard. I took off 3 leaves and put them in her can. I didn't have money to buy flowers on the way out there, but I thought this might show someone, anyone, that her mom visited her today. Someone does care still. I miss her so much.

1 comment:

  1. Robin Jones (tabula rasa)May 7, 2008 at 1:36 PM

    Just wanted to let you know that I understand what you are going through. I lost a child as well. Lots of love to you!