Never thought I'd enjoy visiting a graveyard. All of the superstitious ghost tales and creepy ghouls hanging around. At least, that's just one scenario that played out in my head.
That was all before we lost Morgan, though.
After Mass, Brent and I visited our little angel in heaven. It was a beautiful Sunday with the sun shining on our backs and the birds chirping in the trees. Tears still well up when I look at the beautiful grave, but it's strangely comforting, too.
Want to know the part that really choked me up? We were standing side-by-side, staring down at the plaque. I was silently saying a prayer, when Brent starts walking toward the car. He mumbled something as he stepped over the other graves, but I was too absorbed in talking to Morgan to hear him.
He returns with a bottle of water from the car and pulls a crumbled paper towel from his jacket pocket. Gently kneeling beside Morgan, Brent began to wipe the mud and grass away from the grave.
A father taking care of his child ...
I hugged him, we kissed Morgan's grave and headed home to our puppy.
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