“The ride was bumpy, the smell of exhaust heavy and suffocating despite the open windows. When the bus arrived in Monument, they walked a mile or so to St. Jude’s Cemetery on the edge of Frenchtown. They never went back to their old neighborhood. “Too many memories,” his mother said. Henry knew the unspoken word—sad. Too many sad memories. Eddie’s death had obliterated all the good times they had known in Frenchtown. At Eddie’s grave his mother exchanged last week’s wilted flowers for new ones. ...The flowers made Henry sad. He had never heard Eddie say that he liked flowers. What boy did? But what else do you bring to a cemetery? Henry and his mother knelt down, lips moving soundlessly as they prayed. Henry did not look at his, mother, because he knew her face would be stark with grief. Why do we come here? he wondered. There was no comfort in the cemetery. Eddie’s grave was maintained by St. Jude’s parish but was forlorn and lonely, without a stone to mark it “Why don’t we have a stone for Eddie?”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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