I took off from work yesterday but not to enjoy the beautiful summer weather or to take the kids someplace fun or even just to spend a lazy day reading a book. No, I took the day off so that I could bury our daughter.
The husband and I, along with my parents and the parents of maybe six other lost babies, met in a room at the cemetery. It was the same room we went to when we buried Trey in December. The days couldn't have been more different. December was cold and gray with a bitterly harsh wind blowing. Yesterday the sky was blue and sunny and a warm, an almost oppressively hot wind blew. The priest was the same and the talk he gave was the same and the drive to the gravesite was the same. You'd think having been through this once before and knowing what to expect would have made things easier but it was just the opposite. Back in December I can remember being so sad but I remember also having a sense that surely this was a one time thing. It wasn't even on my radar that I may end up back in the same place a mere seven months later burying another child. And I mean literally the SAME place.
This time I couldn't even bring myself to stand by the gravesite. Therese's grave is in the row behind Trey's grave and they are lined up almost perfectly on top of one another. So, the priest and other families who stood around the site were actually standing on the grave of our dead son. It was all too much for me to take so I hung back and kept my distance.
On our drive back home I told the husband that I had high hopes for our next baby and I do have a good feeling, as though surely this can't happen yet again..........
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