mothering resemblence

.. Something i wrote, actually about my grandmothers grave, but i didnt want to attach myself to the story to much so changed the deceased and the person that arrives at the grave

Its strange being here, gently laying down a bouquet of red roses and pulling up the weeds. wiping the mud from this empty slab of white marble on the ground. Its such a lifeless place, i feel it does my mother no good. I sit cross legged just above where her body must lie. I never went to the funeral i had better things to do, ive never really been a fan of the forced tears , the repetitive cycle and the unindaviduality of a burial. My mother deserved better, she deserved fire, and water to jump from the earth and liquidate the world her, but no a simple funeral song , black clothes and teary eyes. I never went and i feel no shame for it, she wouldent of even wanted me to attend such a sick and twisted affair. I stroke the grass tenderly , letting it weave in and out of my fingers creating an intreicate pattern in my mind, its still warm i think. Her body still lives on, just not in a physical way. I come here every tuesday to see her, after i clock out at work i get one solitery bus, of which i seem to be the only passenger and walk through this deserted place to my mothers grave. Her's is the only clean one, the only one covered in fresh flowers by numours people everyday. I feel sorry for the others, some cracked or crumbled completely, there words scratched over through years of ware. Not single vistor for some, the false nicetys of the funeral abounded once there weight of the family was lifted. A tear falls from my eye, my mother always thought she was a weight, a burden, to much for us to deal with. But she wasnt , never we injoyed driving her to weekly bingo and loved the way she smiled when her numbers where called out every week, strange that she never did get a number wrong. But now she lays here, causing us only the burden of visting ths sorry and lifeless place. I love you i mutter , ive never been one for that word and as i said it i felt uneasy, standing up i bid her goodbye, i can never stay long after i tell her the truth. I glance back, perhaps hoping to see some ghostly resemblence but this seems not the place for such appriences , i feel it would even chill the bones of the undead. And so i walk  away my heart a little heavier. Until next week mother, sleep well ill bring you bluebells next time.