A Place I Consider Beautiful
Written by Conor (16yrs)
Looking back I remember the day we brought her to her final resting place. It was a warm day, not a cloud in the sky, birds sang and butterflies flew. My family all came to my house, where my sister was being mourned. They said such things as “she was so young” and “she’s in a better place now” when I heard people saying this it filled me up with anger. The thoughts going through my head were “yes she was so young, too young, no one deserves to die after only six weeks on this earth, and a better place, surely there was no better place for her than here with her family. I spoke to no one for the whole day, during the funeral I had no tears left to cry and as we lowered her down that hole I turned and saw my dad, the proud strong man that I have known, reduced to nothing but sorrow. But now we are all back to our lives but that day will be in my thoughts forever.
A couple of weeks after the burial my family and I decorated her grave. We covered the earth with white stones, in a way I suppose they symbolise how pure her spirit is. And around the grave with wooden curbing’s, we didn’t like the idea of stone, so cold and hard and lifeless. Perched on top of the stones are three white baby angels holding small cross shaped lights. The grave is full of flowers of bright colours and during the spring the flowers are full of life with butterflies and bees. Dotted around the grave are little garden lights that light up at night and shine so bright you can see them glow from across the graveyard. A beacon of light vast as she was when she was with us. All of these factors together make her grave not a reminder of the pain of loosing her but a monument to the joy she brought to our lives in the short time we had with her.
It is not just the look that makes it such a beautiful place but also the memories that are brought up by it for example the day she was born or the way she used to kick and how she could fill my mother with happiness with just a smile. She would cry when she was put in her basket and would stop as soon as she was picked up. For me the fondest memories of her is the day she was born when I first held her. She was so small and delicate. I would give the world just to be able to hold her again. All of these memories are brought to the surface when I visit her grave.
Even though her grave is not yet finished as we still have to get her permanent headstone, to me it is beautiful. And when her headstone is placed on the grave it will read
Muireann Shionagh Dunne 15/04/12 – 27/05/12
There is no foot too small that it cannot leave an imprint on this world