Why I went to the grave with an engraved headstone

On the first anniversary of my mother’s death, I went home to a very special headstone with the words, “I love you.”

The words were engraved on the back of a stone I’d carved out of the stone she’d laid down.

I’m not ashamed of the words on my own tombstone, but they were inscribed on the stone that she laid down, and I think that they were really meaningful to her.

I also like the fact that, if she were alive today, her name would be engraved on a marker.

I love the fact she was a very big part of my life.

It’s not the only time I’ve gone back to the stones.

When I was growing up in rural England, my family had a small cottage in the village of St Mary’s.

My grandmother’s parents were not religious.

She was not raised in the church.

She didn’t want to be part of any religious activities.

But she did go to church at least once a week.

One of the most important things I learned was that the meaning of life can be understood in terms of how you are perceived.

It was a real revelation.

And then, when I was about seven or eight, my mother got her first job.

She had been a maid for the local parish priest, and she was very, very proud of her job.

My mother and grandmother had been married for many years.

She loved her husband and they had been living together for many, many years, and when she married, they were going to have a child.

My maternal grandmother would go and work the graveyard.

I never saw her again, but I still felt that she was my mother, that she really loved me and she always wanted me to be happy.

She always told me, “You can’t wait to get married.

If you marry, you’ll have your own life.

If it’s bad, it’ll be worse.”

My father and mother were very proud and loving people.

I was very fortunate to have my father as my father.

He was very strong and intelligent.

He always wanted to be good at whatever he did, and he loved me.

My father had a lot of faith in me, so that was very important.

I was born in the late 1950s, and the whole world had changed by then.

There was no television and no newspapers and so on.

Everything was going on in the streets, in the pubs, in schools.

My parents were very religious, and they really believed that God created them in His image and that they needed to do everything that He wanted them to do.

When they died, they didn’t say anything.

They were buried in a small wooden coffin in a churchyard in the countryside.

And I was raised to believe that God wanted me and my father to be faithful and good people.

It was very difficult for me to get to know my mother at first.

She never got around to telling me about the grave stones and the engravings.

But one day, when she was about six or seven, I was sitting on the front porch of my family home in Berkshire, and there was a knock at the door.

I looked up, and it was my father, who was a big, fat man, wearing a white shirt and blue jeans.

I said, “What’s wrong?”

My father looked at me and said, “‘Mummy, daddy, we’ve been married four years, we have a baby.'”

My mother looked at her and said,” ‘Oh, dear, you know, this is nothing.

You’ll never know anything about me and Daddy.

I’m a widow.

And we’re still married, aren’t we?'”

My father said,”Well, I’m going to go upstairs to talk to you, and you can go downstairs to talk with your wife, and talk to her.'”

And I went upstairs to go down the stairs, and my mother said,”Oh, my God, what’s going on?

What’s going to happen?'”

And then she walked out, and never came back.

My dad and I went on a lot in the next few years.

We lived together, we had children, we took care of our elderly parents, we were working.

But in those days, we just didn’t know what was going to come along.

I just kept on going in the same direction, trying to figure out what was really going on.

And my father was very patient, always wanting to be with me.

We were very close, and then I realised that I needed to find a way to be more present with my mother.

And that was what led me to my father’s grave.

And my mother was very proud that she had a headstone that said, ‘I love my husband and we have been married many years.’

That was the only place that I could go.

That was my place to tell my mother about my father and her relationship with him.My family