With Holy Week came a fresh sorrow over the son we lost last year. Grief can take hold of you so suddenly. It can seem like it comes out of no where, but that’s not truly accurate. It’s always there and some days it just comes to the surface for another cry. On Holy Thursday I remembered the hurt that will always be with me. I missed our baby terribly.
On Easter Monday Phil and I visited his grave. I could not believe when we got there and found the greenery I had left there back in December still right where I’d placed it. That day we had had to brush off snow from the marker. I suppose while it melted and froze over and over again ice formed and clung to the branches and ribbon. And I suppose that red ribbon may have bled into the greenery, it was such a red tint. I never imagined that this would not have blown away. It seemed a bit of a miracle to me.
We left our Easter Lily. Phil had a stake to tie it to. Someday I’d like to get something more permanent to use.
Seeing the Lily of Easter on my baby’s grave is a kind of comfort. Seeing it there reminds me that, “He has risen, just as he said.” And that it is the Will of Him who sent our Resurrected Christ, “that I should lose nothing of all that he has given me, but raise it up on the last day.”
