My son in the cemetery

 

There's a really weird thing about kids and time. Even if you don't have kids, they have a way of reminding you "It's been 3 years? She's going to be 3?" And they have this constant reminder about mortality. Thanks Brock. You see, there's this thing called responsibility and all your stupid choices have to revolve around them. You can just blow all your money on scratch off tickets and sit your own pile of glorious scratch off dust. Who's addicted?


No, kids remind you that you're going to die. They remind you that other people have died. You hurry up and get them in pictures so that they can be in pictures with people before they die (even though they will never remember this) because you want them to be in said picture before that person dies.

Plus, will they take care of you? What will happen when you die? Will they die before you? OH MY GOD? See --- mortality.

Now I'm prefacing this like I am above all of this, which is a big ole load of crap. My 100 year old grandmother recently died and you better believe we have several pictures with all of us.

But something really touching happened yesterday and in a world where so much goes wrong, I just thought I'd tell you about this sweet little moment with my sweet little boy.

My mom had to stop by the cemetery where my grandmother was recently buried, I hadn't been there since she had been buried. I've been so many other times because it's the same spot where my brother Teddy was buried. At first I was planned to wait in the car. If you have a toddler you really hate to wrangle them in and wrangle them out. But then I remembered all of the beautiful butterflies flew around the cemetery and I knew he'd like that, so I pulled Brock out of the car and started to walk around.

It was the oddest sensation of my life. Watching my kid stand on graves that he would one day put me in and he would one day be in (unless, of course science has found the cure for life).  Brock just stood there and he just smiled. He ran about like little boys do, touching to vases and some of the nick knacks people lovingly left on graves - don't worry he didn't break anything. And then it dawned on me that I might as well show him where his family is buried.

It as a haul but I carried him (and a few bug bites-as big as butterflies the real ones must have migrated) and we found the spot where our family lay to rest. I introduced him to everyone. I told him who they were. I saved my brother for last.

Before I could start the introduction Brock fell to his knees at my brother's gravesite and started to feel the letters on his head stone. I instantly started to cry. He is not a still boy, but he sat there (for a second).  After then he got up and started collecting his favorite things leaves and rocks. He left a stick in the vase for my Aunt Barbara (not sure why the stick). But his favorite things that he kept walking around with were these soft light brown leaves. He carefully laid one on my brother's headstone.

Now, I was obviously a wreck and kids just do weird stuff. And, honestly I'm going though a difficult time right now in my life, so I'd like to think that there was something, even if he sensed how important my brother was to me. It was a good moment.

I'm not ashamed to say, I followed up our visit, tear stained face and all with the best southern comfort bbq there is - Bessengers.

Hebrews 6:19 and 2 Cor 12:9