My Son’s Grave Reminds Me

Some people walk around their entire lives not being oriented towards anything. They just wander through life with no clue where they are going, where they are meant to go, and totally ignorant of the life after this one.

I used to be one of those people and there are times when I feel like I am slipping back into old habits. But then I visit my son Anthony’s grave and I am reminded of where I am headed: into a grave. How holy I am when I go into it is up to me, because holiness is is our response to God’s love. We orient each choice towards our love for God or our love for ourselves. Each one counts.

The Foot of the Cross

If there is one blessing in all of this mess, it is that I know exactly where the foot of Christ’s Cross is. It is my son’s grave. He committed suicide eighteen months ago, at the age of twenty-two. I don’t have to pretend to be there or “place myself ”at the foot of the Cross or meditate about what it could possibly been like there. I go there every time I visit Anthony.

And it sucks. More than I can ever tell anyone in person, because if I let out all my hurt and anger, I would not survive.

But it gives me direction. One day I will go in the grave next to Anthony and how holy I am when I get there is up to me, because I have the power to choose God in every choice I make. Even the hard ones, even the unfair ones, even the ones that leave me feeling alone and abandoned.

I am going somewhere and thank God I know that.


Leticia Adams is a writer living in Texas. Her personal website is Leticia Ochoa Adams and her Patheos blog Through Broken Roses. She is working to create the Red Door Foundation and writing a memoir about her life and how she found healing through therapy and Catholicism even as things kept crashing down in her life. 

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