A Few Flowers

I went to the cemetery today and left a small vase of carnations at Wayne's grave. Just a few flowers, but I liked how they looked there. Someone cares, they say. I care, they say.

Nine carnations, one for him, one for me, and one for each of our seven children. I went today because I feared tomorrow's weather. Not that we shouldn't expect rain every day these days. Like we've turned into Seattle or something. But today's rain waited for me.

The place looked very nice, and lots of other people had come to visit the graves that mean much to them.

I suppose I can say Wayne's grave means much to me. It is his last place on this earth.

I used to go often at first, to cry and to see that they kept the place the way I want it to look. I would speak to them if things didn't look right and thank them if they did.

Now I don't go often. Never know what to do when I'm there. Sure, I can talk to him, and I do. But beauty of the surroundings, the small stream right at the head of his grave, the trees--as pleasant as they all are--do not make me feel, what, comfortable? Maybe the word is glad. I do not feel glad when I'm there.

The other day I told Caroline that I'm her dad's mom. She knew that. And then she told me that her dad misses his daddy. That's what she said. I miss him, too.