Yesterday was the first day of the Memorial Day weekend. Since it looked like the only day it wouldn’t rain, I set out for the cemetery with my mother and granddaughter. Finding my father’s grave, we decorated it with begonias and callalilies, then read the inscription: “I know that my Redeemer lives.” Sadness washed over each of us as we contemplated the loss of a wonderful, gentle man who was a husband, father, and grandfather.
Then we went on to the cemetery where my baby brother, who died at just ten days old, was laid to rest in the Babyland section. Oh, so many babies, some without even names, just “Baby Smith”. It was heartbreaking. We found my brother’s tiny heart-shaped gravestone, wept over it, and left a bouquet of sweet daisies there.
Just beyond the trees by the baby section is the sculpture in the picture above. It’s Jesus, cradling a baby on his lap and holding the hand of a young mother. The sculpture says it all. While we grieve and ask “why”, Jesus is right beside us, holding us gently. I know that my dad and my little brother are with Jesus – and we will be together again some day.