When I Am Gone
There’s something about stones that lure us to remember loved ones who have passed on. At my father’s grave, we stand hip-cocked or sit, chatting about Sissie’s new boyfriend, and life on this side of heaven. I wistfully look at my Dad’s gravestone. My boys say, “No need for you, Ma! Save your money. We not going visit you anyway. Plus, no give us your ashes, so gross, you know. We can talk to you any time we like.” I wonder what will bring them to me for a moment’s chat and a lifetime of memories when I am gone.