A Strange Dog Sat at My Son’s Grave Every Day – One Day, I Decided to Follow It

A chipped coffee mug can suddenly become sacred.

An old grocery receipt can feel impossible to throw away simply because your child’s handwriting is

scribbled on the back.

The cemetery became the one place where I didn’t have to pretend I was doing better than I actually was.

I visited Caleb every Sunday.

At first, I went because staying home felt worse.

Then it became a routine.

Every Sunday morning, I bought coffee from the same little shop near my neighborhood.

I drove across town, parked beneath a row of old trees, and walked the familiar path toward Caleb’s grave

Sometimes I brought flowers.

Sometimes I talked.

“I saw your old friend at the grocery store,” I might say.

Or, “Your aunt still makes too much food every Thanksgiving.”