My grandfather chose his plot because he wanted to be near the babies who had been buried there. He was wildly pro-life and every year I'm reminded of how his passion marked him even past his death.
I can't help myself, but I always tear up as we walk through the markers of the children. Babies who were born still, 10 days old, 3 years old... The agony and sorrow of their parents is beyond comprehension to me.
Every year is a new opportunity for us to talk a little about life and death. To get over the "creepy" factor of bones being under the ground to the purpose of life- that our eternal souls live in heaven for ever. We are not bodies with a soul- we are souls with a temporary body.
I'm thankful that they're on their way to understanding that this life isn't all there is. Anytime I feel concerned that they're not learning enough in school, or getting enough "life experiences," I remind myself that there's more than what we see. And that the goal isn't Harvard- it's heaven.
Eternal rest grant unto them, oh Lord, and may perpetual light shine upon them. May the souls of the faithful departed rest in peace. Amen.