You came with me to the cemetery yesterday. You have already been lots of times, Oliver, but you've always been asleep. Yesterday, instead of sleeping, you were kicking up your heels in your car seat. I could hear you squealing at your little toy hanging in front of you. So when we got to Anne Marie's spot, I got you out of the car and you sat in the stroller in the 75-degree sunshine while I did some work.
All summer I have been trying to get the grass green and pretty, but my watering couldn’t keep up with the Oklahoma heat. The grass is spotty green and brown, mostly brown. I’ve been waiting for it to cool down so I can plant some winter grass. I dug up thick clumps of weeds and dead grass and tilled the soil while you sat and cooed at your toy. I spread grass seed and topsoil and watered. I cleaned off the headstone and put in fresh flowers. All the while you sat and enjoyed being outside.
Near the end you were hungry so I sat in the car and nursed you, getting just a little bit of mud on your clothes. Then we sat in the sun and I told you again about your sister. You’ve heard this story before. When I’m rocking you in the quiet of my room you hear the story of your brave older sister. The one you will never know in this life, but whose story you will know by heart. You feel my tears drop down on your soft head as I remember the time I got to hold her in my arms. You hear me thank God for you and your brothers and sisters who are able to make me laugh and smile.
You will come here with me lots of times and sit in your stroller while I try to make things pretty. One day you will be toddling around while I work, and will help me get the flowers just right. You will help me spread grass seed and pull weeds and carry the big pink watering can that grandpa gave us to water her grass. And I will keep telling you her story so that even though she's not here with us, you will know her.