This evening we went to the cemetery to clean up a little.
It is really an awful thing to have to do, mother a grave site, but one that I have done now for over eight years and one I will do until I die.
When we got there, I noticed something was missing and I got really aggravated. I walked around looking for it, and it was not to be found. Sigh.
We have had many things taken from there through the years and each time, it hurts my heart.
I get mad, really mad too...
As I weeded, I got even more aggravated that anyone would take anything from anyone's sacred place.
Especially my son's.
I came home and ranted in a short Facebook status and within ten minutes had to take it down. Ranting about someone stealing from the cemetery wasn't bad to do, but it didn't make my heart feel any better than it did before my rant. So I checked my heart and deleted my status and followed that with a brief explanation and an apology for my rant.
I know this happens so much. People steal from cemeteries. That thought is just disturbing, isn't it?
Disturbed and frustrated, when I got home, I walked inside to wash my hands and I looked down at them and they were so dirty from pulling weeds. I had dirt under every fingernail and patches of dirt dried on my hands.
Before I washed the dirt off, I had a "mama moment" and got really sad. These same hands rubbed my belly when Matthew kicked me, these hands held him close to my heart the day I said goodbye and now these hands weed the dirt his body is buried under.
I got sad.
Just being real and it hurts my heart.
It hurts my heart that I had dirt on my hands cleaning the grave where my son is buried.
It hurts my heart that I couldn't protect him from death and that I cannot protect his special things at the cemetery.
I close tonight kind of numb that I know this isn't the last time something will get stolen or the last time I will have dirt on my hands.
Love to all,
PS- I miss him.