A single red rose or yellow sunflower. That’s what I usually place across my father’s grave at the cemetery.
Today it was a sunflower. The cemetery was busy with the quiet buzz of people remembering. Whether they prayed over grave sites, shared memories, or groomed the site that once marked the last time they saw an above ground version of their special person, I imagine everyone found comfort in a sort of group empathy.
Someone once told me he didn’t understand why people went to cemeteries. He went on to say he found it foolish because the loved one’s spirit isn’t there. I kept my thoughts to myself at the time. And even though he’s correct on one level, I can’t thoroughly agree. There’s something rather comforting about sitting there and chatting or just standing there remembering. And it doesn’t matter what you say or how you say it. Because that moment is completely off the record and totally in loving memory.