Road Closed

Crumbling asphalt leads the way over a creek, up a hill, down a winding path just big enough for a car if you’re careful and to the back, back, back of the cemetery. In the back, all the way almost to the woods, is the tiny stone where John’s ashes are buried.

In recent months, I was not as devoted to my cemetery visits. We always go on death dates and due dates, we took a few sad looking garden items to “decorate,” but I would skip cemetery visits for weeks at a time.

Then the news came: the township had to close the bridge over the little creek for nearly a month. The entire bridge was threatening to fall into the water and replacement was the only answer.

Workers tore out the old bridge and set up supports and struts and beams for the new one. They dug and they poured asphalt and they packed it down. And through all this, they closed the road with a big ROAD CLOSED sign.

And suddenly I could not breathe. I could not see John’s stone. I could not make sure the weeds and grass were properly trimmed, could not sit next to the granite marker and watch the frogs hop around, could not watch the chubby groundhogs dart amongst the stones.

Every time I drove past the cemetery, the ROAD CLOSED sign gave me a panic attack, as if someone would steal John’s ashes or his stone or his tacky garden decorations. Silly, I know.

Two weeks ago I was driving by and the big sign was gone and the bridge was open! Relief. I drove into the cemetery and straight to the back. All was as it should have been – just as we had left it on John’s birthday in July.

For the last two weeks I have been at the cemetery at least six times. I drive through on my way to work or on my way home. Sometimes I take Clark, other times I go by myself. Sometimes I get out of the car, other times I just drive past the stone marker very slowly.

Oh, Baby Loss Mama logic. There’s no explaining it.