I love cemeteries. I run in them, visit them, pick them out to see while on vacation.
For years, every time I was in my hometown, I made a point of visiting the cemeteries where my loved ones are buried.
Since I have been home, this time, I have not been to the cemetery. Usually I am the one going and inviting others; this time, I have turned down several invitations.
I itched for their to be a marker for my brother's grave. For weeks, I pressured my mother to make it happen.
The headstone was finally placed last week, and when my mom said she wanted to go, I couldn't it.
The grief is too real, but the pain of seeing it inscribed somewhere is somehow more than I can bear.
I don't know what will happen when I see it. I don't know what it will feel like. I don't know if it is fear that holds me back or intuition (we had a long talk about the difference at meditation last night -- not sure where I come down on it).
But I am trying to honor the feeling ... the thing is, that headstone will now be there forever. Just as my brother and sister will never come back. And that hurts more than I can express.
My sister's ashes are probably scattered to the four winds a million times over at this point -- though there is a place I could go ... but I don't want to go there either.
I found the piece of the rock that I kept for myself the other day -- it is sitting next to my bed. I look at it remember, she is gone. Sometimes it is the only way I can manage to believe it. Though I have been flashing on her head, limp to the side, in the hospital bed. I struggled so much to understand - was she still with us or already gone?
My brother-in-law is dating. My sister-in-law is still distraught. Every day is a struggle.
We all reach for whatever we think will make us feel better -- but I am actually trying to just feel whatever it feels like every day.
It is not exactly a space of productivity.