Looking back at the pictures at the cemetery when her marker first came in, I remember how happy I was that it was here. I felt like the waiting for the marker to get in took so long and remember thinking it is 'finally' here. I remember the ground being bare and without grass. I remember sitting there in the dirt and running my fingers through the loose dirt, wondering how close yet how far she was from my reach.
Now it is a much different scene. The marker is showing some wear from being exposed to the weather. The grass is grown in and with it came the weeds that I desperately try to cut back and dig out. And now her grave is starting to look like every other one to the naked eye. To all eyes but mine. To me, she is special, that marker is special and to me it is like it was yesterday, and I remember.
I like seeing graveyards that have been properly taken care of --grow Bermuda grass, ornamental flowers and a pretty marble tombstone. It just somehow shows that families of the dead love ones still care about him even when he's on the other side of the world.
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