Spring Visit to the Cemetery

I spent last night staring at the ceiling with the yellow light we leave on outside barely letting me know she was there. I felt nothing, well not nothing exactly. More a feeling that this is what my life is, and I wondered that I was missing Caitlin and missing the hot tears and wails and poetry--the words that used to come to tell me how much I loved and missed her. I used to be able to taste the words with my tears. I don't know when I fell asleep, but I awoke with that feeling and question on my lips, "Where is the longing, the grief, the pain?" The missing was there, but with it was the cardboard of acceptance. Like I had packed it away with my winter clothes.

I needed a connection to my daughter today, and so I drove to her grave--a spring visit to the cemetery. I always wonder if her things will be there; it's common for flowers, angels, butterflies, and other symbols of love that I leave to disappear. Who know why or who or how; I just know that it happens, so I try not to get too upset. Today, I wonder about the puppy that I got from a happy meal and put on Cailtin's grave for one of my sisters so she could visit her niece from far away. The puppy gets moved around a lot in baby land. For a long time, Z's puppy stayed with Gabriel the baby next door to Caitlin and I left him there to keep Gabriel company. Since then, I've found puppy on one of the baby's graves of precious little ones buried recently. And today puppy was visiting a new baby's grave.

Well, I took a pic and then brought puppy home to stay with Caitlin. I secured it with the heart still there, though faded to a light pink, from Valentine's Day. Amazing, and not, that these things mean so much to us, the bereaved. Her squeeze toy still makes sounds, though it takes three squeezes each time to get a sound. The butterfly is still there, which was a relief and several other parents have since brought their babies butterflies too. I thought that was cool. The ground made me sad, though, it still bears a square dirt patch that marks when she was first buried. The grass doesn't seem ready to grow and bring life to that spot. I sat and listened to her songs and kissed her stone. And at last cried.