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Left to right: Christopher, Captain Imperfecto and Nico waiting for football


September 17, 2014



It’s a strange feeling to walk in a cemetery where I know I’ll be buried once I die. Death and being buried doesn't scare me and I didn’t choose to live my afterlife here. It kind of chose me. It’s the location where Mimie and I buried our twin daughters. And it is where I buried Mimie when she died in 2012.

“I want to be here with my daughters,” Mimie said as we stood at the front of the grave marker of our little girls, Sophia and Gabriella.

“I agree. Me too,” I said.

I wrapped my arm around her shoulders and we stood there as our silent tears slowly rolled down our cheeks.

I have gone to the cemetery every two weeks and placed fresh flowers in the iron vase that is attached to the granite cover to Mimie’s mausoleum. I’ve been doing this deed for over two years now, since her death. I feel bad because I don’t walk the very short distance to see my daughters. I think about doing every time I’m there to visit Mimie. Which is pretty regular since they’re buried in the same city that I patrol as a police officer. The only excuse I can think of as to why I don’t walk over to them is because of the coverless rod iron black fence that allows open space for the drivers of the cars that pass by to peer into the cemetery as they travel along the busy roads that parallel the east and side boarders of the graveyard.

The privacy I desire just isn’t there while I grieve and I feel like my sympathy is on display. Which is kind of ironic since I do write a successful blog with tens of thousands of subscribers from over 50 countries. Sometimes I visit while I’m in my police car and I feel like the large lettering that spells out POLICE, draws the eyes of the bored motorists waiting for a green light, to my location like a magnets attraction to metal. It’s a billboard announcing my fucked up situation. Other times I’m with my sons and when they run off into the large acres of land they tend to run in the opposite direction of where the girls are buried.

When I follow my kids around I sometimes imagine where I’ll be buried. I’d like to be in the same area where the girls are. I did place the request in my will as to this desire. My main reason to being buried in the same area as them is so that my boys won’t have to travel far to visit us once I’m gone. And the cemetery isn’t half bad either.

“Wow, look that dude has been buried here since 1956,” I say out loud to no one in particular since I’m usually alone when I go visit. I try to explain things to my boys but they don’t really care at this age. For them it’s more of an area a place to visit mom and run around uninhibited.

“Guys, put the flag back.”

“Hey guys, don’t touch those toys. They’re for the deceased.”

I try not disturbing the dead but my boys don’t know any better. At times I don’t go to the cemetery with them because I’m not sure if my young sons truly get what’s going on.

But their laughter, the laughter of children makes this place feel alive. Theie little voices echo off the walls as they frolic around the people who were there age once. It’s such joy to hear and I think brings joy to the dead that are lying entombed for enternity.

It is such a joy to know that my sons' don’t mind going into the cemetery to visit their mom and sisters. It reassures me that when I’m dead and gone and buried in this same place that maybe my grandkids will be doing the same thing when my sons' visit me. And when they do, I won’t mind, because, their laughter will remind me that I once was alive, too.



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