The Cemetery

This scenario happens to me at least four times a week: I am going about my day, usually in a good mood, and then I drive by the cemetery and my world comes crashing down around me. I obviously know where the cemetery is, but I always forget to avoid it. It comes seemingly out of nowhere. And then I feel this intense gravitational pull to the cemetery as I drive by in slow motion. I become keenly aware that my father is mere feet away from me – he is right there, right by me, even though I search for him daily. And I have to face the reality, yet again, that he is in the ground.

I never understand why people want to be cremated. Please don’t think I am being ugly about certain religions, it is just that it helps with my own grief knowing where my father is. I keep wondering where he is and I am almost like this little girl lost – visiting his grave is the physical reminder that he is no longer here. I once had a friend describe death of a loved one as thinking they were on vacation because you forget they aren’t coming back. You have to remind yourself of that – sometimes multiple times a day, and each time is just as hard as the one before, sometimes harder.

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