My late husband died on Good Friday and is now buried in Calvary Hill Cemetery. I am blessed by the beautiful ironies that connect us to Our Lord and Savior. We try to make an annual pilgrimage to clean the gravesite and remember those who have gone before us. It is a cathartic journey during Lent, reflecting on the corporal work of mercy of burying the dead. My oldest son was only 6 months old when his father died. He doesn't remember his father but he knows, through tradition, what a great man he was.
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