Graveyard thoughts
Over the weekend, I visited her grave. It wasn’t until after I left, I realised that it was the first time I had gone by myself. Usually, I’m with my family, husband, friends, or showing mums friends where she is. So, this time I didn’t need to swallow anything down, I didn’t need to keep a smile on my face for the sake of others, and I didn’t rush away after tidying her flowers.
There was no buffer between me and my sadness. And it started off rather dramatically. ‘Can you stop being dead?’ I asked out loud as I sat down on the damp grass beside her. Then I cried. A lot. Proper body shaking sobs. We’re talking the full works of snot and tears. V sexy.
So far, it still seems shocking for me to visit my mums grave, instead of her. It feels so bizarre to be stood there in the cold churchyard and think of that as ‘visiting her’. I think this will get more normal, but it still feels alien.
As I was alone, I spoke out loud to ‘her’. I told her how I had finally persuaded my husband to let us get a sausage dog. I updated her on what’s going on with the family and told her about Prince Philip passing away. Just usual stuff we would talk about.
What I can’t get my head around, is what do I need to say to her? I think about her every day and I feel as though my inner monologue is often talking to her, so it felt weird to be telling her things that I feel as though I’ve already told her. I’m not even sure if explaining this makes any sense, I don’t think I understand it myself, but it’s been playing on my mind a bit.
My inner reaction is that as usual ‘time will make it easier’ and as it does pass perhaps I will able to see going to the grave as dedicated time to ‘talk’ to her, and her grave will become a place where I can feel as though I am talking to her like I would on the sofa next to her.
I guess it all boils down to the fact that I still can’t get my head around the fact I will never talk to her again. I’ll never have a conversation with her, in which she replies.
I just wish she would answer me.