Child at the Graveyard

I went to a graveyard in Orem today. I often go there to find peace and quiet. Maybe it's the presence of the dead, but it feels like the temple to me. Sometimes I lay down with them and look at the clouds.

There is a particular grave there that I like to visit. Last year in February, a baby boy died. His family buried him under a tree at the edge of the graves, hanging ornaments in the branches above him like the toy mobiles we hang above cribs. Instead of a normal tombstone, they placed a picture of his smiling face above his final resting place; anyone who sees his bashful smile automatically loves him. I'm no different; I saw his grave the day after he was buried, and I've continued to visit him ever since.

The last time that I went to visit earlier this week, I found out that I'm not the only person to have adopted this child. When I arrived, there was family with small children frolicking among the graves. Seeing that I sat next to this little boy's grave, the mother walked up to talk to me while I was eating my Panda Express--I know, it seems a little bit mocking to eat food while visiting the dead, but I'm trusting that they have compassion on my empty stomach.

"Excuse me, is he your son?" She asked me.

"No."

"Oh, ok, because every time we come here, my children like to visit him." I looked at the laughing children behind her.

"No, I just came to this graveyard the day after he was buried, and I've kept visiting him ever since."

"Oh." She looked surprised. "I guess it's just a bonding experience then."

A bonding experience indeed. Last year, when I saw his fresh grave, I cried. I can't imagine how hard it would be to lose a baby. I left a note for the family shortly thereafter; I didn't pretend that I had anything to ease their pain, but I did tell them that their loss had affected far more people than they knew. I left it in the picture frame, and within a week, it was gone; I assume that his family found it.

For my Savior, I wrote them another letter and left it in the picture frame again. I wanted them to know that their child is still loved by many. I, a stranger, still go to periodically visit his grave. And though he never grew old enough to walk, other children play with him beneath the trees and sunlight. I don't know if my letter will have any positive effect, but I want them to know that their child is loved by more people than they even know.