I was seven when David died. Mom and Dad let us view his body lying in state, which is the most vivid image of David that I retain, but we weren't allowed to go to his funeral. He spent so little time at home that we never got to know or play with him.
More vivid than the image of David in his coffin are the images of the many times Mom walked across the uneven ground of Lullaby Land to put flowers on his grave. Her regular trips to the cemetery began on her birthday in 1965. Her birthday, and David's birthday and date of death, became ritualistic for her and Dad to visit David's grave. In 1993, she added Dad's dates of birth and death, and we children became her support system accompanying her to our brother's grave and our father's crypt.
After that, we would trudge back to the vehicle and go to the mausoleum to visit Dad's crypt.
She rarely missed one of her regular visits to the cemetery. If she did, she made up for it. All of us knew how important those trips were to her, so it was just a question of who was going to take her.
There was snow when we went one time. She was afraid to try to get to David's grave, so I went to his grave alone to put the flowers on it. I was able to get really close to the door of the mausoleum, so she was able to visit Dad's crypt.
The only time that I would say that she missed one of those dates without making it up with a visit on another date would be the 55th anniversary of David's death in 2020. She was struggling with her health that year, and she was one of COVID-19's early victims on May 3rd. She never got to visit David's grave or Dad's crypt again, of course. However, she spent her first Mother's Day in heaven with Dad and David a week later, and she moved in with Dad on May 15th.
At least, I feel some peace thinking about it like that.
