Memorial Day Plea

Sunday sucked. In a way I'm not sure there are words to explain even a nano portion of how I felt. But I think it is important, because I think there can be a lesson here, if I can word it right. I have written and re-written this many times. Slept on what I have wrote, and re-written all over again. And nothing seems to be coming out right, so I will just go with feelings.

I feel angry.

I feel violated.

I feel hurt in a way I can't even describe.

I feel ripped to shreds.

I feel stomped all over. 

I feel guilt for not being able to protect my baby.

I feel Mama Bear-ish.

I feel weak.

I feel rage.

I feel helpless. 

And it isn't just one thing, its multiple. The pain is compounded. Layered. 

What is it that made me feel this way? 

Sunday I went to visit Gracie. I needed to be near her. I needed to remember her in a good way. There had been a rough moment. I was in pain. I was going for healing, for solace. When I pulled up I gasped in shock. I opened the car door and sank to my knees, crying, with a scream stuck in my throat. I yelled and then I shook. Full body, can't even hold the flippin phone to call anyone, shakes. I was numb.

There, on my babies grave, were the remains of the decorations we had left the week previous. 

Destroyed. 

Ripped apart. 

And then the kicker, the graves right next to hers were left untouched. Not a random act of senselessness. Done by humans. Animals could not have set things the way they were.

I'm sure to some people, my reaction seems waaaaaaaay over the top. Like "Oh yeah, you know, that Sarah over there. She's just really too depressed. Her emotions are off. She just needs to get over herself. Maybe it's hormones. She must need some help."

That has been said to my husband before. It has been said to me. That I need to get over it. The first time was 4 days after we buried her. The most recent- today. I am sure it wont be the last. Each time stings like a needle. The type of needle that an inexperienced nurse uses to place an I.V. for the 3rd time. That big of a sting, that much of a hurt.

She wasn't just a blob of cells. She was a human being. She had a heart beat. I watched her suck her thumb. I watched her kick, saw her move. She was alive. She is my baby. 

This has happened before, but not to this extent. Things have been moved around, a windmill has been busted, just a little. I sat near her a while back when a guy on a bike rode all over other graves and tried to ride over hers. Her Easter basket had been pulled apart, eggs opened, Easter grass strewn everywhere. But this.....This was unbelievable.

I still shake a little, just thinking about it. We went the next day and placed new decorations. I searched for possible answers. Answers I could live with. Answers I could understand. But there are none to be found. Ty joked the other day that I must want to put up a nanny cam or something. (Don't tell him, I'd already searched prices on Amazon...)



But this is the message I want to share tonight. We're approaching Memorial Day. A day where, at least how I grew up, we spend the day driving to different cemeteries, cleaning and decorating loved ones graves. Bringing knives and shovels to trim back the grass, water to shine, flowers to beautify. A day to talk about memories, family history.

Can I ask you to do something? When you go this year, watch where you walk. Walk in between the graves, not over them. Don't stand on the headstones. While you may not have any connection, that is someones baby. Someones mom, dad, brother, sister. Someone loves the person who lies buried beneath.  Even if the person who loves them is no longer alive as well, the love never dies. Don't play with or mess around with the other graves decorations. They are not put there for your entertainment. Teach your kids. I know kids will be kids, but they are also teachable. I remember being a kid. I remember being taught respect and reverence for cemeteries, for those buried there. Reverence for the dead means quietly thinking of them. I remember doing that, but I don't know that I fully understood it, until I had to bury my baby. Teach your children that that is someones baby. Someones, mother or father, sister or brother. Teach them that though they may not know whom they walk over, they were still alive once. Still a human being. Still a person. They had feelings, joys and pains. Maybe they liked pizza. Maybe they had a dog. Maybe they liked to climb trees. Teach them that the flowers and toys are there for the angels to play with, and they can play with their toys at home.

This is my experience. This is my grief. My pain. There is no comparing. I'm not saying everyone feels this way, but many do. I got a message last night from another angel mommy, talking about this very thing. She said something similar to " I feel so protective of this spot. I was surprised to feel this way, but I guess it is one of the physical things I have left and I want to protect my baby. To be the mom. To say who gets to see my baby and when. Just like I would for my living children."

Cemeteries are not parks. Not a place to see how high the next headstone can flip your bike tire.      (Trust me, if looks could kill, that guys disintegrated ashes would have disintegrated. Too bad it wasn't a zombie apocalypse or something and a hand could have reached up from the ground and grabbed one of the bike tires....j/k, kinda)      Not a place to allow a dog to run off leash and poop wherever. Headstones are not places for snubbing out cigarettes and in the same sense, neither is the dirt of freshly dug graves a place to dump used cigarettes.
Cemeteries are a resting place for those who have passed on. A place to celebrate a life lived. A place of grief for those of us left behind. A place of hope, a place of love. When you visit cemeteries, whether it be this upcoming Memorial Day, or any other day, please remember this. Remember that though you may not know those who lay buried 3-6 feet below, someone else does. Someone else cares.

Someone loves them. 

Art therapy

Final glance