Cemetery Visit
Walking out after services, I hold onto Gabe’s arm. The little walkway into the cemetery is littered with acorns – little ball bearings that make me choose my way carefully. Gabe steers me onto the grass, and we stand there a moment, while I catch my breath and look for Hank’s marker. I spot the cypress that is my landmark. Last year’s grass is tan and unmown. I stumble a little bit once, but my grandson’s arm holds steady. It’s…