It's hard to go to the cemetery to visit Harrison sometimes. I'm sad and embarrassed to say I may go a month or so without visiting him.
Just typing that sentence breaks my heart for him. It's not right.
Why is it so hard? Some days I understand my sadness and I forgive myself. But other days I cannot.
Before the death of my son, I would think a mother would visit her child as often as possible. I would have told people "I'd go all the time." Being in love with my children as much as I am, it would of just seemed natural. But that thinking is wrong, so wrong.
Just the drive to the cemetery is gut wrenching. That is not even including the thought of buying flowers knowing the purpose of the purchase. Some days I just want to cry and tell the cashier why I have to buy them. I want to release the pain and grief.
I arrive and get my "cemetery bag" out: granite polish, garden shears and cleaning cloth. I can't have my baby's headstone dirty...it's all I can do for him. Put water in the container, cut the stems of the flowers. Busy work to keep from thinking about the reason why I'm there.
And then it hits me: Oh my God, my baby is dead. I lay down on him, usually crying as hard as you can imagine. On a couple of occasions, people have come over to check on me due to my crying. I cry, and I play our favorite songs, songs that make me think of him.
I apologize for not coming earlier. I repeatedly tell him I love him and how unfair it is and that I miss him. I ask him to come home.
But the hardest part, which I would never of imagined, is leaving him there. That's the hardest part.
I made him a promise yesterday when I saw him: he will have flowers forever from now on. I will never not go to visit him. He will never be alone again.