Mothers Day.  Each year on Mother's Day I come to the cemetery and  spread a blanket on the damp grass and clear the dirt from my mother's headstone, wash it with water and wipe it clean.  I look down and pray finding thoughts and memories.  I speak about what happened, about who died or was ill--I speak about my brother and let her know I am taking care of him and that he is still alive.  I speak about her grand daughter and say that she is doing well.  I spread flowers across the ground and take a photograph with my hand spread across the letters and numbers of  things that still remain here in the world.