The Grave

I went to the cemetery today for the first time in two weeks. I've never gone two weeks without going. I always visit the cemetery the day before I leave on a trip. Tomorrow morning I'm flying to California for work and I'll return on Thursday evening at 8pm. Going away causes a flood of feelings that I'm just too tired to explain.

His grave is my grave, too. One day I will be layed to rest on top of him. My name is etched on that stone. My date of birth is there, too. I've already paid for my date of death to be placed there when the time comes. Should I live 50 more years, should I remarry and be married to that man longer than I was married to Kevin I WILL be layed to rest with my love. He is the father of my children and love of my life. That is where I will go.

Today has been a sad day. I bought a beautiful spring wreath and put it next to the stone. It's really out of place among all the winter wreaths around, but I don't care. I needed something pretty, something lively.

I hate that place. I hate it more everytime I go there. I despise it. It makes me angry that I have to go there.

I should've cremated him
I should've picked a different cemetery
I should've picked a different spot
I should've bought a tall stone
I should've bought a black stone
I should've had his image engraved in the stone

I secretly hope my plane crashes.