Here I said
don't even let this go
and it's hey to that old man
I'm coming in the graveyard
with my little tune
it's June
I said she's gone
but I'm alive
I'm alive
I'm coming in the graveyard
to sing you to sleep
now. ~ Tori Amos

KC and I made a detour on our way home tonight, stopping by the cemetary to plant roses at Gramma's grave. It was so like me to just go with the moment, forgetting all the necessary garden equipment to make my task easier. A quick stop at a greenhouse, armed me with a bag of nutrient rich potting soil, a gallon of drinking water, and 3 baby rose bushes, ready to be planted.

I couldn't help but think how strange it is, planting flowers for the dead, when they're really meant for the living. But it makes me feel better, digging my hands down into the dirt and nurturing life to grow in her memory.

Still I miss her more than any words could hope to describe. If only I had had more time, maybe I could have found some peace with her passing. But I hold on to this bitterness, tasting my loss every day, reminded of what is missing, because I haven't found a way to let her go, without losing her forever.

2 a.m.
the sounds of an unfamiliar city.
I am remembering now,
having already forgotten the color of your eyes.
Yesterday I had the urge,
to lift the sheet back farther from your face,
to hold your hand in mine and
remember its shape,
so I will always know that ours are the same.

I wanted to count your toes,
I guess a reverse reaction from when you were born ...
But I didn't.
Instead goodbye came with a kiss
gently placed upon your brow,
as I stroked back your hair
still soft beneath my hand,
your skin grown cold beneath my lips.
~ Stacey