E is for Epitaph.
My brother and his wife recently bought a house in the mountains near Stuart, VA, a fabulous cabin they plan to retire in. Hubby, DD#2, and I spent a day with them and didn’t want to go home. In addition to the magnificent scenery,
and great dirtbike/ 4-wheeler trails,
there is a small family graveyard near their cabin. I have always enjoyed the surreal feeling of walking through old graveyards, imagining the hopes and dreams of those laid to rest, wondering how they lived and who was left behind. I read the names and dates, ponder the inscriptions, and look for family ties. I feel calm and complete, appreciative of life and thankful to God.
This little plot brought me to tears. There was one adult grave, a woman, surrounded by the graves of more than a dozen babies and children under the age of two, some with different last names, many marked only with head and foot stones, large rocks embedded in the ground. On one little tombstone, I read:
Sleep on sweet babe and
Take thy rest.
God calls us away when He