Finally, on Thanksgiving day, I was able to raise my head off the couch, stand up, and actually begin to function. It felt so good to be alive again.
At the time, we were living about a block away from a cemetery. It was beautiful that day so after we'd eaten we decided to take our 2 little boys for a walk through the cemetery. (Don't ask me why....)
My husband took our oldest son's hand and the two of them meandered through the tombstones. I could hear my son's little voice reading all the names and dates and asking questions about each person he came across.
In the meantime, I walked around with our 3 year old, James. He chattered too, but couldn't read yet, so his questions centered more on the birds, the grass, and the little flags he saw on some of the graves.
I started daydreaming about the baby I was carrying and wondering whether it was another boy or would we have a girl this time?
Suddenly James stopped walking and he stopped talking. He stood, frozen to the ground, staring at a 12" cross standing guard over one of the graves. He had a puzzled look on his face, then:
"Look. Look at dat cross Momma. Jesus wasn't vewy big, was He?"