Half as much as I

   Writing has become hard for me. I over think things. I wonder how much of what I am writing is for myself and how much is for whoever might be reading this. I guess that is what comes with an online blog. I'll just jump into it then.
   Today is a day that I will never forget. I got a call from Oak Lane Memorial Park saying that the deeds to the burial plots were ready to be picked up. I went out there after work but the lady I needed to talk to was not there. I went out to Willow's grave site, brought water for her flowers, and sat down on the grass next to her plot. It is a sad sight to see. The grass still has not grown in, 3 1/2 months later, and her headstone is still two months away from completion. There is a small plastic sign with her date of birth, date of death and her name. It is a beautiful place though. The huge hundred plus year old live oaks and the ancient barn, the white cross tie fence surrounding the property, the as of yet undeveloped fields surrounding the estate home which is now the offices for Oak Lane. This was once a plantation. It is so peaceful, so tranquil. It was hot out today but there was a nice heavy breeze blowing through the place. Such beauty in a place of such tremendous sadness. That word doesn't even do it justice. This goes so far beyond sadness. Anguish. That is the best word I have found as of yet.
   Sitting there, thinking of my lovey girl, I pulled out my wallet to see her pictures. It is all too much. Every time I go to visit her I break down. I always go alone, maybe so I can let my true self out. I always have to put up guards around everyone. I cannot lean on Shelby or Carpenter for obvious reasons. I need to be strong for them. I suppose I need to be strong for Alice as well, but it would be so nice to be able to let my guard down around her and just cry without the certain reprisals. I have no one whom I can just hold and cry. It is a strange feeling, being a 35 year old man who so desperately wants to hold someone and cry. I have no one.
   Maybe an hour passed as I sat there with Willow. I always break down when I am there. I tend first to the care of her flowers, then sometimes I walk around and straighten anyone else's flowers that have fallen down. I always bring a gallon of water and what I don't need for Willow's flowers I use to clean the statues and toys that have been left at others graves. The rain falls and splashes up mud onto these ornaments. There are several little white cherubim throughout the place and they usually need attention. Maybe I busy myself so that I can put off the inevitable, the break down. Once everything else that can be done is done, I walk over to my Willow's grave. I sit next to the disturbed earth and know that her little body is below me. I know she is not there, but still when I know that I am in the presence of her vessel it wrings me out. I weep. I grieve violently. I rock back and forth. I make sounds that would certainly shock any passersby. I ask why. I repeatedly call out for her. "My baby! My baby!" "It's not right!" Why these phrases seem to be the only thing I can think to say is certainly something that deeper people than myself could read a lot into I suppose. Frankly I don't care. I don't care about anything while I'm out there with her except for what cannot be. I want her to sit on my lap. I want her to call me Pawpaw. I want to hear her try to say "I love you" and hear it come out "I shushew!" I want to play chase with her. I want to hear her call for me to "Get in!" as she hides under a blanket. I want to fix her a bottle. I want to change her diaper. I want to hold her hand and go for a walk which will inevitably end in me carrying her half of the time. I want to see her play with the birds. I want to see her hug our dog. I want to hold her and sing and dance her all around the living room as she tries to sing with me, repeating only the last word of each line. I want to bury my face in her curly hair and breath in that fresh life. I want to tickle her and hear her squeal with delight. I want to see her get out of my lap, take two steps and then turn, put her hand out in a "stop" motion and hear her say "be back, kay?" Hold my spot Pawpaw. I've got something to do that is terribly important in my two year old mind but I need your lap and your hugs and you need to reassure me that when I come back that you will pick me up. Be back, kay? Willow, you're not coming back. The best I can do is go to visit your grave site and lay down and bury my face in the dirt and weep for you. How do I put this into words! How can I write out what is going on in my soul and make it seem even halfway like the real thing? I can't. I just can't.
   I started writing this with the intention of describing a meeting I had in the cemetery today. There have been many young children, even newborns buried in the same section as Willow since her death. When I had first arrived, during my rounds tending to the cherubs I had paid special attention to a very small mound of dirt. A baby boy, birth date the same as the death date. Now, having prepared myself to leave, I noticed a woman standing there staring down at the tiny name plate. No one understands what I am going through. So many well intentioned people have tried so hard but they just don't understand. I walked over to this woman, careful to not startle her. She was his mother. Three weeks ago he was born with a non-liveable condition. She told me that when they cut the cord the color drained from his face and he was gone. She got to hold him for a bit before he died. We shared stories of our lost little ones, our different situations linked by a horrific sense of loss. We both made the point that no one understands. We both are going through the same thing. She knew in advance that he would die. Willow died unexpectedly. She had a few minutes with him, we had two years. There were differences but the grief is the same.
   After a few minutes of talking she said she needed to go back to her car. Her daughter was in her car seat, blissfully watching Barney and enjoying the cold A/C. She was 2 years old. She had been born one month and five days after Willow. I wanted so desperately to go and pick her up, give her a big hug and just breath in her curly hair. Obviously I did not, but that yearning to see what Willow would be like now was so strong. What would her language development be? How much more coordinated? What fine motor skills would be sharpening? What would it be like to hold her again? Desperately sad people have desperately sad thoughts. The mother's name is Brooke. She told me that she was so glad to meet me, as she has seen so many little graves in our section and wondered about the families. I felt very much the same. We agreed that although it was in one way a terrible thing for so many little ones to be buried so close together, it was also, in a macabre way, comforting to know that not only were our little ones not alone, but we as grieving parents were not alone. Somewhere out there are mommies and daddies, Mawmaws and Pawpaws who are going through this same grief. I only hope that they loved their little ones half as much as I loved Willow.