Grave

A short time ago, a friend of yours posted that he had been sitting outside thinking about you and a monarch butterfly landed on his shoulder. He said he felt like it was you telling him that everything was okay. I told him that it was interesting because the last painting you completed was that of a butterfly. The first time I visited your grave, A little butterfly landed on my hand and flew to perch itself right on top of your tombstone. I looked around during that hour or two I spent with you, but there were no others in the cemetery anywhere. As I left, there it stayed as if it desired to be as close to you as I do.

Today, I met some old friends and neighbors at your grave. I went after church and spent two and a half hours with them talking about you, and how much they enjoyed living across the street watching you grow up. We laughed and we cried, and all the while the same type of butterfly landed on us and back to your tombstone, over and over again. It never left us for the duration of our visit, and as we walked away, we searched for others like it throughout the cemetery. Again, I couldn’t find another. Was your friend right? Is this one of the ways you help us remember you? Jake, don’t you know I already remember you all day every day? I have thought of you and your welfare for 22 years and it’s not something I can stop doing. You and your sister have become my life’s purpose. Who am I now? I’m not sure.

Today someone asked me how many children I have, followed up by, “Where do they live?” I said my daughter lives in Denver and then I just stopped. Where do you live my precious boy? I do know from your absence and from the constant pain in my heart that you do not live here.  I know what I’ve been taught and what I believe, but what do I report to others? My son lives in Heaven? I’m not sure I can report that so “matter of fact” but I do know that’s where you are.

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