I was far more emotional than I expected when we drove up.  After all we had spent an entire year planning out each detail:  Praying hands because Gabby joyfully soaked up prayer; fruit on a vine to represent both the Fruits of the Spirit and the mighty seed Gabby continues to be; a simple Cross with rays of light shining from it overlaid by the Holy Spirit dove in flight; a porcelain plate photograph of our princess- A Brave Little Soul- centered over her name carved in the Book of Life; and the message Gabby’s eyes embodied, “Let It Shine” .  

Approaching in the van I was nervous.  Would I like it?  Did we make the right choices?  The first glimpse of the jet-black stone with a splash of pink in its center paused my breathing.  Nearly jumping out of before we stopped,  I hurried around to help get Samantha out.  Purposefully I did not look.  I wanted us all to see it together.  Our little family walked over and I began to weep.  My eyes immediately went to the photograph.  No matter how many times I see that princess picture it never ceases to speak to me.  After holding the gaze with her bright, but printed, eyes, I let my own drop down to her name carved in this beautiful stone.  It just did not seem real, yet it seemed so final.  The whole monument made it all so incredibly and unexpectedly real.

Yes, I know my daughter died.  Yes, I know she has been buried in the same spot for 373 days.  Yes, I know, I know, I know.  But the little cliché was now screaming at me: Gabriella’s life and death is carved in stone.  The gravestone brought closure I never realized I needed.   I am glad we waited and took the time for each detail.  There are no regrets.  But the completed stone makes me sad.  My last ‘mommy” duty for my little girl is done.  That is hard to accept. 

Samantha sat in the short grass by the collection of trinkets and flowers anonymously left at the site.  The sleek finish of the stone reflected the face of a grieving sister.  Sam wasn’t crying.  She wasn’t talking.  But her mind was obviously wrestling with questions I couldn’t help her with.  Soon though she perked up and proudly picked a clover flower to lay on Gabby’s stone.  Her gesture proved my heart could break more.  Having had enough, Sam went to explore the inside of the van, leaving Pete and me standing speechless.

Then an incredible scene unfolded.  From high in the sky a squall of dandelion seeds began falling all around us.  It wasn’t one or two like in the yard.  It wasn’t a gust full you’d expect walking in the park.  This was a supernatural blizzard.  We yelled to Sam, who was easily convinced it actually was snowing.  Pete and I spun, smiles broad across our previously solemn faces, and we realized we were in a our own summer snow-globe.  I quoted the Venessa William’s line, “Sometimes the snow comes down in June, sometimes the sun goes ‘round the moon…”   There was no wind, not even a breeze to carry the white puffs; yet each started high above the tree tops and silently and gently floated to the ground.  As I type this, I’m reminded how just a few days before I stood in the living room holding a Christmas hold-over decoration: a snow globe with a picture of Sam, Gabby, and Daddy building a snowman inside.  For the first time in months, I picked the globe up and  really shook the ball to get the snow stirred up.  I stood watching the fake snow silently and gently settled around the foot of that happy moment photo. 

“Sometimes the very thing you're looking for
Is the one thing you can't see

Sometimes the snow comes down in June
Sometimes the sun goes 'round the moon
Just when I thought our chance had passed
You go and save the best for last”

(pic of back of the stone is in the photo album)