I walk past Harper’s closed bedroom door on my way out to the garage.  I am carrying my work bag and lunch.  It has been a typical morning…  I had my quiet time.  I read my Bible and said my prayers for my day, my family, and my friends.  I went for a run.  I ran 3 miles and enjoyed being the only person on the road at 5 AM. I listened to my worship music.  I took my shower and got dressed for work.  A normal day…until now.

I get in my car and head to the cemetery.  I drive the 30 minutes to where our baby girl is buried.  I look at my clock as I pull into the cemetery…6:15 AM.  I have about 25 minutes until I have to head to work.  I pull up beside her grave.  I take a deep breath and get out of the car.  I open the trunk and get out our “cemetery blanket” that we sit on when we visit Harper.  I stroll across the cemetery.  I walk past the fallen tree still there from the day we buried Harper.  I walk past the large cross that is the centerpiece of this section of the cemetery.   And I walk up to where Harper is buried.  I put the blanket down and say “Hi, Harper” and sit down on the blanket.

No one else is out in the cemetery at this time.  The wind blows through the trees.  The birds are just singing their morning songs.  I hear a rooster crow in the distance.  I am alone.  Just me, Harper, and God. 

I say, “The sunrise is beautiful this morning, Harper.”  The sunrise…  The start of a new day.  One day farther from losing our baby girl.  One day closer to seeing our baby girl.  One thing about the sunrise is that it is more beautiful when you can’t fully see the sun.  More beautiful in a storm.  More beautiful when there are clouds.  And our life is a storm. Our life is covered by clouds.

The time at the cemetery in the morning is my time to grieve.  I don’t get the opportunity to grieve by myself much.  I can’t be sad or mad at work because that would be weird.  I can’t be sad or mad with others because that would be uncomfortable for them.  I can’t be sad or mad with my family because I need to be strong for them.  But here by myself, I can be sad and mad.  I cry.  I groan.  I yell.  I tell Harper all the things I wish we could do together.  I wonder all the things she would have been and done.  It’s not fair.  It’s not right. 

I look at the clock.  It’s time to go.

I look one last time at her picture by her grave marker as the sun’s rays are now adding more light to the cemetery.  I kiss my hand and put it on Harper’s grave marker and tell her that I miss her.  I pick up the cemetery blanket and stroll back to the car, wiping my tears and sniffling.  I start the car and roll away.  I blow a kiss as I drive away to work.  Back to normal life now until my next cemetery sunrise.

I will never see a sunrise with Harper.  I will never have her lay her head on my shoulder while we watch the sunrise together.  All I get now is the cemetery sunrise.

The sunrise is good because it provides light into darkness.  Though I continue to have dark days and dark moments, I know that the sun is coming.  I know that the Son is coming.  There are only so many sunrises until we see Jesus.  Right now I look forward to the cemetery sunrise to get me one day closer to Harper and because it is when I truly grieve and feel the closest to Harper.  Every sunrise gets me closer to Harper. And one day, thanks to the Son rising from the grave, I won’t need any more cemetery sunrises.

So for now, come quickly next cemetery sunrise.  Come quickly Son of God.

-E