Springtime in the Cemetery

Early spring, the trees are waking as the birds chirp in their branches.

The earth is defrosting. Something beautiful peeks from the ground.

Tiny bursts of purple, yellow and white dot the thawing green hill; here and only here, on her hill.

The labor of last fall has survived the barren winter to surprise and delight us now. 

Beautiful flowers for a little girl gone.

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One of my favorite memories of being a little girl was reading books about me. Well, not specifically about ME, but those books given as gifts, my name inserted in the action. Back then the font in the book made it look as though someone was meticulously typing the story on a typewriter--and, you know, it's not completely implausible that happened. It was long ago, after all.

For E's dedication my sister-in-law and her family gave him one of these books. His entire name is spelled out with animals filling in the letters. And then for O's dedication they gave another one. But L, my sister-in-law, said it wouldn't be right if all out children didn't have one. So she made one for Calla.

We love it. I would have loved it as a little girl, and I know our little girl would have loved it, too. Now her brothers will listen to her story, fairies and all.

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And then there's this box. A dear family friend MADE this box. It holds all of Calla's earthly possessions. They fit perfectly. Isn't this the most gorgeous box you've ever seen? I am still trying to figure out how someone possesses such a talent. Oh, and woodworking/carpentry isn't even this friend's profession. Impressed? I am so very.

Oh yes, and beyond thankful, too. This box is in our dining room at the bottom part of our sideboard. Sounds like a weird place to keep it, but we can see it every day. She's with us during the most important part of our day, sharing meals together.