|From Delores at "myfeatherednest"|
Every Sunday without fail, Catherine Henner drove twenty-five miles to Hatfield Cemetery. With a jam jar of garden flowers, Catherine found the headstone marked “Butchart” and the stone carved angel.
Placing the flowers at the base, Catherine would pause to pray for this nameless baby buried beneath. Then Catherine would walk over the grassy graves back to her car.
Catherine did this for years.
One day, another lady introduced herself as “Eleanor” and asked about her weekly trips, as she herself made Sunday pilgrimages to her mother’s grave and had seen Catherine. “Is this little one from your family?”
Catherine pondered the question. “Yes, I guess she is.” Seeing Eleanor’s perplexed expression, Catherine explained.
“When my grandmother was dying, she told me about this tiny grave here in Hatfield, of her first-born baby girl who lived only an hour. She made me promise to visit this grave every Sunday.”
“So sad when a baby dies. Your Grandmother Butchart must have loved this little girl very much.” Eleanor called after Catherine as she walked away.
Catherine stopped and turned around. “Butchart was her maiden name. We never knew about this baby she had when she was fourteen, after she was raped by a cousin.” Catherine sighed. “Yes, it is sad.”
Sorry to take such a dark turn here. This was something I told about long ago, about something that happened before I was born. A mother never forgets her baby, no matter what.
Please check out http://mybabyjohn.blogspot.com from where the above photo came.