A tiny casket and one mourner

As I was racing down the freeway to class after work I passed a cemetery. I pass it every week when I travel that way and I noticed before that the children's plots were closest to the road. It always bothered me as they seemed relegated to the furthest corner and always subjected to the sounds of the roadway. Anyways, I always found myself glancing over when I drove by....I can't help it. Today was different. Today there was a small tent erected over a tiny hole and above that sat a tiny white coffin. Two chairs stood nearby with one silhouetted figure hunched over shrouded in black. It was stark, heartbreaking, and raw. I wanted to pull over and scream, to what I presumed to be the mother, "You are not alone, I am so sorry you are burying your precious baby". Then I was angry, angry that they were alone to grieve this child, angry they had to bury their child at all, angry that every time they go to visit that little plot the view they will have is of cars racing by and angry that the sound they will hear is droning engines and honking. Then I cried for a few miles, straightened myself up and realized how silly it was that I cried for someone's burial choices when I didn't even bury my own. I didn't even do anything with her ashes......maybe it's time I did.