Friday, July 17, 2015


I have only gone to my son's grave once since the funeral. After the headstone was put in, we went the next day to go check it out. Even though I pick up Hubbs at the cemetery, I haven't stopped. Sometimes I'll drive by the section where he's buried, but I keep driving. Tomorrow I have to head up that way, I'm taking my test to be a licensed notary public. I think I'm going to stop by and see his grave. It's still just such an odd thing to comprehend. Since Hubbs works at the cemetery, he swings by and makes sure Lumpy's headstone looks good and that it's always cleaned off. That was part of the decision to bury him there, so that Hubbs could look after him in a way.

Perhaps I just dislike the concept of graves in general. Even as Lumpy was dying and we were just talking to him, I told him we weren't going to be slaves to his grave. I just feel sorry for all of the people I see constantly visiting when I go to pick Hubbs up. Every holiday, every week, you see the same graves with new flowers or decorations. Believing what I do about the afterlife, I just can't see the point in it. My son is waiting for me in the great beyond and he wouldn't want me to dwell and linger on his body, when there is so much more to him than that.

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