There’s this curve in the cemetery that always makes me catch my breath. I remember following the hearse carrying my dad to his final resting place. We took this curve very slowly. And it was in that moment, I knew that spot would always mark the place where my heart broke thinking about leaving his body there. I just wanted to keep driving. To keep following him. Because as long as we were still moving, it didn’t feel quite as real. I wonder if he heard me crying at his grave today. I just stopped for a minute to make sure it looked good. And then I broke down a little. The date of his death is now engraved there, yet another final nail in the coffin, so to speak. (Also, he would’ve appreciated that pun...) The rocks from Lake Michigan are still there with little hearts on them. And the grass is starting to grow in little infant sprouts. On the one hand, I am glad. That rectangle of dirt is depressing. On the other hand, I am reminded that life, even in its unfairness, just keeps going. I try to not be depressing on this page. But I also want to be authentic about how damned hard this is. And if you’re going through it too, YOU ARE NOT ALONE.