.
The Visit

Today after completing my endocrinology laboratory section, I drove across town to the cemetary where my beloved mother's body has been buried. It is the first time I went back there since the day of the funeral. I had hoped that by waiting three weeks, I would have been able to visit the gravesite without it looking raw, harsh, and disturbed. Unfortunately, because of the cold, I suppose, little had changed. The hole containing the vault and casket that contains the body of my mother has been covered with dirt... the dirt is currently in a dry mound above the surface of the nearby ground.

I stood before my mother's grave for roughly 20 minutes, talking out loud about her, and about me, and about my fears, anxieties, and my need to hear from her. The salty tears streamed from my eyes and rolled gently into my beard. I had purchased a single white rose earlier in the day and as I spoke I clenched this flower in my hands. When I finished speaking, I gently placed this rose upon the mounded soil and left.

I think I will once again try to begin writing about memories I can recall about time I spent with my beloved mother. Perhaps I am better prepared to write them. Tommorrow is the start of the fourth week following her passing.

PipeTobacco