Why do we go to the grave? While I meticulously arranged and rearranged the flowers we had brought with us to adorn the headstone of our second born son, Jeremy, this thought swirled in my imagination. Why am I here? The reality is Jeremy is not here. I certainly don't believe that his spirit is held captive in the casket we laid his body to rest in 3 years ago yesterday.
My heart sunk. A wave of nauseas energy overtook me. I shuddered imagining what was actually left of his broken body now six feet under along with all the other bodies. As my eyes scanned headstone upon headstone reaching out to Hwy 90, separating the grave from the water's edge, I was brought to my knees. With jealous rage the grave seeks to devour, yet, "Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?" I know that I know that I know the grave cannot contain Jeremy.