I went to the cemetery yesterday with BFF.

In some ways it was anti climactic. The buildup of tension through several days in anticipation, the persistant intent to not focus on it, that a day was just a day and it didn't really matter that it was the 24th.

Forgetting that it comes in the dark of the moon. That the dark of the moon does things to me, makes me morose, creates a palpable difference in how I see the world.

often hormonal, yet not to be discounted.

I had written M a card. One of my (former) students was a an artist and had printed a number of blanks with her artwork on the front. Lovely work, as well.

I had one that had a vase with sunflowers, I thought it was appropriate.

I used to sing to M in the morning, you are my sunshine, my only sunshine...

I sang this song over and over to him as he lay dying. Making sure that he heard it, it never failed to bring a smile to his face. After he transitioned, with his soul in the room, I sang to him again, you are my sunshine, my only sunshine... until I was led from the room and away from his body.

I said many things to him.

I hate that place. i hate the site of his name on the plaque. I hate that it exists and that there is a place to go.

But having a place to go was strangely cathartic and comforting to leave his card there for him. The river stone his father had taken to him was still there, which was also comforting.

I also brought a pebble back with me from the "columbarium".

There's a fucked up word, if I've ever heard one.

After that buildup, being able to commune for a brief moment in time was comforting.