"It's so wrong, so profoundly wrong, for a child to die before its parents. It's hard enough to bury our parents. But that we expect. Our parents belong to our past, our children belong to our future. We do not visual our future without them. How can I bury my son, my future, one of the next in line? He was meant to bury me!"
My thoughts exactly. As my husband tossed shovelfuls of dirt over the tiny white casket, I inwardly screamed -- NO! Perhaps if there where not so many people around I would have totally snapped and started digging up the coffin and ripping it open like I wanted to. But what would that leave me with? A broken, dead body, and a pile of dirt.
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