I say “That time of year again”. But really it is everyday, some hurt more than others. But it isn’t just the time of year.
We don’t visit Melody a lot these days, I know I don’t have to justify myself, and only people in our situation can truly understand our reasoning.
She is there,it is where she is.
She isn’t an Angel. I have friends who have ” little angels” they’re alive,they’re characters in The Nativity, ornaments on top of the tree.
Melody is none of those. It doesn’t sit right that she is there and not here.
But when we do visit we like to spoil her, it is that time of year where we decorate a headstone, in a tiny way to try and let it feel like we’re including her in our Christmas celebrations and traditions. Yesterday we put our house decorations up,finding away to include her at home. Bits on the tree,her advent candle. We weren’t sure if we’d be able to decorate due to the weather,but today was less blowy.
Parking up,hearing the children sound excited,if of course wanting a better word, I know I’ve to do this.
My son already making sure of his job. The girls wanting to carry her flowers and Christmas Tree. Their roles are important.

Taking hold of my husband’s hand. I need to be there. Walking to her tunnel. J had already named it this within weeks of her burial.
Reminding the children to tread carefully because of her new neighbour. Three years of having the baby garden to herself we’ve to remember not to speed around the corner.

We reach her place, some artificial flowers had found themselves there, presuming from wind, we’re not fans of artificial flowers for her garden.
Removed the old flowers and the fake ones too,the children take their places to decorate her.
I take a moment to step back, the only way my children can decorate somewhere as the five. The only way they can play,is like this.