The Cemetery

My mother passed away when I was 19.  My younger sister and I would go every year thereafter to plant flowers at her grave.

Several years ago, I was pregnant with my second child, and was a little front-heavy.  Okay, I was never a little ANYTHING when I was preggers.  Actually, I was prone to passing out, tripping, falling... my balance was completely screwed up, and I warned everybody about it.

So there we are, knelt at the grave, digging furiously to make a neat spot to plant some flowers.  I was in the zone and did not notice that I was slowly leaning forward.  Finally, at my last dig, it happened:  I fell forward - in slow motion - an narrowly missed knocking myself out on my mother's headstone, but instead landed on my arse.  My sister and I started laughing (what other option is there, really?), hooting in the cemetery.  Probably the best laugh those folks had gotten years.

It was only made worse by the two of us imagining the events had I ACTUALLY hit my head and required medical attention.  The ambulance depot was right across the street and with my luck, would have witnessed the entire thing.  "Yes, 911?  Ahem.  Er....   Hello, could you please come collect my pregnant sister over at the Roman Catholic Cemetery?  She knocked herself out on our mother's headstone...."

Jesus.