I was on vacation yesterday and I went to the cemetery to visit my grandson. A couple of plots over a young woman was sitting on a blanket beside a fairly recent grave. She was crying gently.
I cleaned up some twigs and leaves around my grandson’s place and had a short one-sided conversation with him and said a little prayer.
As I turned to leave I felt the need to acknowledge the woman’s grief. It was clear the grave was someone close, a husband, a child. I did not want to intrude but I was compelled. “Ma’am,” I said, “I am sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you. I see yours was only one day old. My little girl only lived three days.” My heart broke.
I wanted to tell her the pain would never go away but in time scar tissue would form on her broken heart. It wasn’t my place, besides I never lost a child, how can I know? Instead I told her “He was my grandson.Again, I’m really sorry.” I left her to her to spend her private time with her baby.
As I climbed in the car I wish I had asked her little girl’s name. Too often we overlook infant death as if they weren’t real persons. I should have acknowledged the baby. Told her mom she chose a beautiful name.
The next time I go visit Sawyer, I will stop by the new grave and say hello to the baby girl lost too soon and call her by name.
1 comment:
A dear friend lost a daughter almost ten years ago. He talks about her as if it was just the other day. She was 37. Her name was Lauren. He will never stop missing and grieving.
My heart breaks for both of you and Lauren and Sawyer.
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