I Don't Feel Them at the Cemetery

I’m not really a cemetery person.

I used to feel a little weird saying that out loud—like it meant I loved my people any less. But hear me out.

Maybe “hate” is too strong a word. It’s not that I hate it there… it’s more that I don’t feel them there.

I feel her in the way my kids smile—the kind of smile that lights up a whole room and reminds me of her laugh.

I feel her when I’m pushing through something hard that I really don’t want to do, but I do it anyway because I need to.

I feel her when my kids finally “get” something they’ve been working on for days, and I hear that spark of pride in their voice.

I feel her when I cook one of her favorite recipes after a long, chaotic day — the kind of meal that soothes your soul and fills the kitchen with memories.

I feel her when I cry in the shower because I miss her so fiercely, it physically hurts.

I don’t feel my grandma at the cemetery either.

I feel her when I’m planting flowers—even if I have no idea what I’m doing and the plant may or may not survive.

I feel her when I take my kids swimming and remember how she used to do the same with me, her hair barely getting wet but always smiling.

And yep, I feel her in the kitchen too. There’s a theme here, clearly.

My sister? She’s not at the cemetery for me either.

She’s there with me on the couch, watching Food Network reruns like we did as kids.

She’s in every stray dog I see that I know I shouldn’t bring home… but kind of want to anyway. (One day I just might, sis. One day.)

The point is, I used to wish I was the kind of person who felt closer to my loved ones at their graves. But I’ve learned that grief doesn’t come with a rulebook—and love doesn’t live only in one place.

If cemeteries aren’t your thing either, maybe this will help you feel a little less alone. It doesn’t mean you love them less. It doesn’t mean you’re doing it wrong.
It just means you carry them in a different way.

I’m not a cemetery person.
And that’s okay.