* * *
We went to the cemetery this past weekend. The spot where Ewan's body is buried is not marked yet, but my feet know the way to the patch of earth where the tiny casket was lowered into the ground. Every time we've been there, I stand over the spot where his body is buried -- the body that was still nestled safely in mine just over eight weeks ago -- and wonder at the fact that it is underneath a thick layer of earth. I know it is there, but there is a disconnect. As I look around at the flat markers, I wonder at the stories contained within those narrow date ranges. It is all too much to take in.
* * *
My friends came to be with me, to grieve with me. A hand held, tears shed, sitting together in the space that holds so many evidences of our desire for his life. We dreamed once that perhaps after a bit of trouble, Ewan would be there. And now that space screams at me: he's not, he's not, he's not.