The graveyard chronicles part 2

I'm in the graveyard again. There is a ladybug exploring the bench next to me. Oh now she's just resting. I wish I could do justice to all the thoughts that go through me while I am here but sometimes a moment can not go beyond itself. That is what it is like for me here. Those are moments that make life something worthwhile, the ones you can never share. These moments, these are for me alone; I try to share them in here but once the journal comes out the moment dies and a new one is born. My thoughts leave where they were and start to focus on the movement of my hand and the letters on the page. I envy this lady bug. My thoughts here do not come as a steady narrative stream, rather they come as flashes, glimmers of a hidden depth I may finally be able to find. There are two other people here today visiting loved ones. A woman has been here for half an hour with water and a spade tidying up a plot. The man stayed for the amount of time it took me to write this entry. Both share a common hurt but neither will share a single word. Neither acknowledges the other. Both left as I wrote that line. They lady bug is still here. The wind is calm and cool. I slowly walk between the rows, reading all the names and sentimental thoughts, smoking my cigarette. This is my place, these are my friends. We have never met but we are connected through a sort of an understanding. They know what death really is and I understand there is more to it than the sadness people impose on it, we share a secret joke. There is a newly dug grave here today. I don't know who's it is, there is no name yet. Faux grass lines the opening, is this because people need to have the illusion of life even then when the body is lowered? The barren dirt is too depressing I guess. I look down this grave for a long time wondering what I would do if I dropped my cell phone, wondering what it would be like to be in there. I would never go retrieve it myself, this is someone Else's place of rest, I would not dream of contaminating it with my worries or stresses or anything else that life has me soaked in. I realize this talk of death depresses most people and that makes me sad. Right now, staring into this fresh dug space, I am so peaceful. I think momentarily of the family and my peace vanishes. What are they doing right now? Are they mourning his death or celebrating his life? I hope people don't mourn my death. I try to tell people, I'm ok with death... not that I'm going to rush into it or anything I have things to do first, but when it is my time, I want to go. Please remember that my friends, and remind my daughter. Death is another adventure, and if it is not than it is a rest. Either one of those I welcome. I have to go back to work.