It’s a sad thing when you have to bury your own child.
The last time, I got a sore back, using a shovel in the back yard.
So, that’s why I called around and the neighborhood showed up with shovels.
One guy got a backhoe from a nearby road construction crew.
That was nice of him.
We made a block party out of it.
With lemonade and cookies and music and a volleyball net.
Everyone had a blast.
“Same time next week?” I asked.
The crowd cheered, and I patted the dirt down.
And called the foster agency for another.