On A Child’s Headstone:

When my son died in a car accident, almost ten years ago, he was no longer a child. He was twenty-five years old and no longer living at home. But, always and forever, he will be my little baby boy.

The first reaction I had to hearing of his death was a pain in my uterus that almost floored me. My body knew where the first connection to him was and it felt like it tore in two when he was gone.

In honor of my son’s birthday, I give you children’s headstones.













































I made the pictures black and white so you could see them better.
I had to remove the names. And the one is so old I had to do an outline of the little tiny body, no longer than seven inches, laying on a pillow on the top of the stone so you could see it.



















The child climbing the rocks is life sized. (It took some playing with the photo manipulator to get to see him here. There was a green patina on the stone that made it blend in with the background when it was in color.)


















(This one is my avatar.) The boy child turned angel is in a local cemetery, all the others are in Boston.


















The children under glass are life sized white marble statues of the children buried there. (It is said that some of the statues of children in the cemeteries were made from their death masks. A common practice in the Victorian period.) A boy in a boat with his toys and a girl standing with flowers in her hand. They were their mother’s only children and their mothers are now buried next to them.