Light

The cemetery where Caden's is buried is also called a Garden.  Because of this, during the months of April through September, they ask that you have "cut flowers" only, meaning no potted plants set on the grave site, no extra decorations such as little fences around the marker, or wreaths around the vases, or solar lights...

Because we have plans for Saturday that start super early in the morning, and wanting to follow the rules completely, I had to take the light off today.  I knew it was going to be hard, but I was unprepared for just how hard.  It was never meant "for" Caden, but for me.  I just couldn't stand the thought of all that dark surrounding him, both in the ground, and on the grounds of the cemetery after dark.  Ridiculous as that may sound, it's how it feels.  It means nothing for him, nothing to him, but everything to me.

(February 24, 2018)

I had taken a pair of pliers, just in case, but ended up not even needing much strength to pull it out.  The fresh sand around the headstone made it really easy.  And that made it so much harder in my mind.  I burst into wracking sobs.  Six months.  It's already been six month.  The ground around his headstone is still so soft, pulling a stake from it is like pulling a hot knife from butter.  The grass placed above his battered, scarred and beautiful body is still dry and dead.  But it has a chance to come back again this year.  Caden does not.  I cried.  Oh, how I cried.

 When I finally composed myself enough to look through my wrinkled fingers, I noticed a teardrop on the shaft of the light.  "How fitting," I thought.  My tears watered the dead ground today.  It needs it.

 I still love the view from this heartbreaking spot.  Ducks and swans swim in the pond with the beautiful water feature.  It's no surprise why they call this cemetery a Garden-- it really is a beautiful place.  Perfect for a beautiful boy that was taken much too soon.

(March 30, 2018)

Some could look at this picture and think, "It's not that different.  It's only a tiny light."  But it's not a small thing, not really, not to me.  It feels like it's my heart.  Six months.  How, how can that be possible?!  My son is not coming back.

It will now light the way to our home, until I can place it back in it's proper placement on the one year anniversary.  Today is one of those days that I don't know how I can live without adequate breath in my lungs, how my heart can pump when it is a boulder in lava, how I can function at home when my mind is in Heaven.  Caden.  Caden.  Caden.