Yesterday, we took the time to visit the cemetery where we buried our sweet George Mason, as we’ve unexpectedly found ourselves in NC for the last week. I always feel so awkward at cemeteries. There’s so many emotions that someone can feel when in that place. I often wonder if I’m feeling the right ones. Am I sad enough? Do I miss this person enough? And I being too emotional? What is that hardening in my throat? Should I cry? Can we leave yet, or is that disrespectful? But Audrey always asks to go and visit her brother’s stone, so we took advantage of being so close, and let her introduce Harry to George Mason’s grave.
If I’m being honest, it’s such a hard thing to describe. My 3 beautiful children will never be together this side of heaven. Audrey and George will never get to gang up on their little brother. Harry and George will never get to gang up on their big sister. The three musketeers will never get to gang up on their parents. But for a few brief minutes, all three of my children can be physically represented - a grave marking the ashes of our middle man and the kind and loving big sister and little brother that place flowers in the vase. It is the strangest feeling. An emotion that I’m not sure even has a word to describe it.
It was cold and rainy yesterday. Almost as if we were in a scene from a movie. The overcast skies made the somberness of the cemetery feel that much more looming. And yet, amongst the graves, were two little children full of life and laughter; and a deep love of a brother they’ve never known. Harry carried the bunches of flowers from the car to the grave and Audrey helped me cull them into an arrangement to place in the vase. We talked only a little about what lie beneath this stone. We took a few pictures and then we walked back to the car. Each of us with dewy eyes, not because we were sad necessarily, but because the weight of sins curse on this world feels heavier somehow when you’re standing in a cemetery. The giant, yet often invisible, hole in our family is much more visible when you’re standing in front of the grave. And as we walked back to the car with 2 kids instead of 3, it was just a lot.
I’m not sure Harry is big enough to remember this for very long. And I know he’s not big enough to understand who this George person is that we talk about, but I’m incredibly thankful for the ways that our family has been supported in remembering and honoring our sweet middle man. Thankful for the people who listen when we say his name. Thankful for friends and family who share their memories of him and say his name. Thankful for the God who loves my family, my whole family. Thankful that we can continue to share our George with those who never knew him, especially his little brother.
“Make a joyful noise to the Lord, all the earth! Serve the Lord with gladness! Come into his presence with singing! Know that the Lord, he is God! It is he who made us, and we are his; we are his people, and the sheep of his pasture. Enter his gates with thanksgiving, and his courts with praise! Give thanks to him; bless his name! For the Lord is good; his steadfast love endures forever, and his faithfulness to all generations.”
Psalm 100:1-5
