I have to preface the picture below. One of the things I’m learning as a widow is how to put flowers on a grave. It’s not a simple matter. I can’t just stick some flowers in the built-in vase (after I spent ten minutes trying to figure out how to turn the thing over) because they’ll just blow away. A trip to Michael’s revealed many different ways to properly anchor flowers. I bought a small green foam cone and put my flowers in it. I was so proud. I put them in the vase and came back the next day to find them flung 20 feet away due to a strong breeze the night before. I tried a bigger cone. After trying to cram it in the skinny space, I finally concluded it was too big. Then I discovered what you see below, a built-in cone thing that came sheathed in some type of green plastic. I was so excited. I arranged my flowers and came to the gravesite to put them in. It was too big.
So I’m back to square one. Eventually I’ll get it figured out, but if anyone happens to be a graveside flowers expert, I could obviously use a little input on how this all works.
I’ve discovered that when I have big changes in my life or when I’m feeling particularly vulnerable, I visit his grave. I’m moving this weekend. My birthday is this upcoming Wednesday. I’ve got some personal things going on. Plus, this time last month Bryan and I were stuck in the hospital. It’s coming up on a year since he died. It’s not easy re-visiting all those moments. I still find myself dealing with these darned emotions.
I went to visit his grave. I sat on the grass next to him and went through all the things I was dealing with, the good, the bad, the ugly. I don’t know how all this works, but if he has access to my head, he’s the one person who lived with me on this planet and now knows absolutely everything about me. He knew darn near everything when he was here. He never judged and never held anything over me. He knew how the world worked. He knew we were all human. He made his own mistakes in life and owned up to them. I could lay out all the craziness that happened in my life and he just took it all in stride and loved me not one iota less for it. And Bryan knew I loved him completely. I guess that’s what makes it easier to go visit him now. It’s therapeutic, but at the same time heart-breaking. Every time I visit, I go through all the emotions that are my daily reality as a widow.
I take things one day at a time. On the days when I can’t deal, I don’t. I come home, I veg, and I do the things that help me heal. Overall, I can feel that I’m getting better. The good days now outweigh the bad and I know I can always pay him a visit at the cemetery. His soul is in that celestial beautiful thin place and if I’m quiet enough, and still enough, I can feel his soul reach out to touch mine.
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