Sarah's Inscriptions

 May 14, 2021:  9 Months April 27, 2021 I don't really like going to the cemetery, if I'm honest.  The rough patch of ground in front of your headstone just reminds me why it was dug up in the first place.  Then I can't stop my mind from reminding me that you were buried.  Then I simply do everything I can to not throw up.  It's even worse the times that I see you - your face, closed eyes, cold hands crossed, that blue floral dress, your hair curly - peaceful.  I remember you looking peaceful.  The memory does nothing to combat the nausea though.  In fact, it feels suffocating.  Probably because some small part of my brain ignorantly convinces me that you're suffocating.  Grief is a lot.  It's so much.  It's high anxiety and high sadness and high joy when it comes and around and around it seems to go.  But everything is so much, that even in your death I think you're suffering.   Sometimes, if I'm honest, which I try my best to be when I write these

 May 9, 2021 - Mother's Day Today is Mother's Day.  I wish you were here to smother with love and hugs and annoying-voiced "the Miss!"es that I miss oh so much.  I think days that are made to celebrate you will be the hardest.  Yesterday, Heather and I went to the hardware store to buy some hanging baskets.  I'm sure you were upset with us the entire time because they were quite pricey.  You wouldn't have even stopped there, I'm sure.  I imagine you saying that there are cheaper options elsewhere, like our go-to greenhouse on the corner of 68th and Warner.  We even bought the geraniums for grandpa's grave already.  I hate having to do all of this stuff without you, and without Aunt Diane, and grandma too.  I miss what life was with you... If I were able to on the day of your funeral, I would have said how lovely you were.  How selfless.  I would have stood at that podium and preached to everyone who came that there is not, nor ever will be, another wom