Pulling Flowers

Mr. Fix-it and I went to the cemetery on Saturday.  Elizabeth is buried next to my great-grandpap (in the slot that was reserved for my great-grandma who is still alive and kicking, but wants to be buried with her second husband) in the cemetery where all of my family is, in my hometown.   We live about an hour from there, so we don't get to visit often enough (if you ask me) but I couldn't think of anywhere else I would rather have her, than surrounded by family.  It's probably best for me too: there's no way I could dwell to the point of practically living in the cemetery.  Unfortunately, Mr. Fix-It kinda freaks out when I declare that we should visit the cemetery while we're there...so I don't mention it 'til I have to.  We haven't ever not stopped when we've been in the area tho, so eventually he's gonna catch on.  It's not that he doesn't want to go, but rather that he doesn't know what to do with his emotions, having followed a long line of males down the glorious road of emotional constipation.

The cemetery game plan was to rip out the flowers we had planted in the summer and put in a fall wreath.  When we got there, someone had already ripped out the flowers.  It was probably best.  Over the summer, they grew to be rather bushy but we left them because they were still so pretty.  But I was really hurt by it.  Not because the flowers were gone, but because I felt like someone else had said to me with their actions that I wasn't taking good enough care of my daughter's grave.  It'd only been 2 1/2 weeks since we'd been out there,and while we were on a tight enough schedule that we didn't have time to garden last time, the were still in full bloom so I didn't feel the need to pull them yet.

The fact of the matter is, most of my family is buried in that area and my great-grandpap (who has 50+ descendants at this point) shares her "gardening space".  Any one of a dozen people could have been up there and saw they needed pulled and acted, meaning nothing but good by their actions.

But here's the thing:  keeping her gravesite orderly is the only means I have left to nurture my daughter.  And today I feel like it's yet another example of my extreme failure as a parent.