This week has been a long one. My daughters took turns being sick and we stayed home more than usual.
This weekend we were driving an old highway talking about the trees and houses we were passing. When we passed a cemetery my older daughter asked, "What is that?"
Well I briefly explained that people were special, even after someone has died their body was still treated special and a cemetery was a place to bury someone who had died. We talked about how they were kept nice so you could be happy if you went there to remember someone buried there.
Then she asked, "Where is James buried?" I suppose I should have been prepared for the question, but I wasn't.
We chose cremation so he isn't buried anywhere. And there was no place that had meaning for us to spread his ashes. Instead we have an angel shaped urn that sits next to his picture on a shelf. I wasn't sure how much to explain to my girls. I try to answer their questions and let them know that asking questions is good.
Driving on an unfamiliar road blinking back the tears what I wanted to do was turn up the radio, but I didn't. We had a short talk and the girls seemed satisfied with my answers. When we got home Charry went to see where James was.
Talking about him seems to have reminded her of him. She has worn her locket, with his picture inside, every day since.
It has reminded me too. I remember the respect given by the nurses after he died. They were still gentle with his body. I remember how weird it was leaving "him" even though I knew he had already left.
There are changes coming soon, changes I know will bring heartache. Heartache that will make me wonder about my son up in Heaven.
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