I didn't visit the cemetery.
I just couldn't bring myself to go.
I honestly had intentions to go, but I was too scared. And too sad. I knew that I would break down and I did not want my son to see me like that. I also wanted to read a letter to each of my girls, but was unable to prepare them. I didn't feel right going there unprepared.
I guess it just wasn't time yet.
I feel terrible that I have all these opportunities to visit their grave and don't go. But I just can't. It is too painful. Someday I will find the courage to visit them. Someday I will find the strength to kneel down in the grass and touch their headstone. Someday I will sit with them and read the letters I wrote while I cry and miss them. I think what I dread the most is not the going there.
It is the leaving.
Leaving the cemetery on the day of their funeral made their death so real. And I fear that leaving them again will only make it more real. You would think my empty belly and painful scar would be enough to convince me of that already. How much more real could it get right? Was holding each of my babies in my arms as they took their last breath not enough to drive it home? Is an empty nursery and quiet house not convincing? Do their death certificates and the deed to the cemetery plot leave any question that they are gone?
Yet with each passing day, somehow, the reality sets in even more. I don't even know how but it does. And the pain of those moments is excruciating. I know that seeing their headstone is going to hurt profoundly. And I am just not ready for that yet. I will be someday, but not today.
I hope my girls understand. I think they do since they don't really hang out there anyway.
I miss you sweet girls. I miss you so much.