Today I contacted the stone carver to mark Rich's grave. It is a rectangular-ish flat stone, one I pulled out from the muddy hole, six weeks shy of a year ago. Not much room on it beyond the basic information -- his name, his days among us. If room permitted, I asked "Beloved" to be carved, too.
Sweet Rich is gone. I can say this a thousand times, and still my heart is strangled. Pain eases, then drops to another level in a bottomless hole. Setting the stone in place will be my last "official" act of grieving. Everything else is done. But not finished.
Candace
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment