Reading another thread on here prompted me to write this. when I was 12 I lost my mother. She has a lovely tree and a commemoration plaque at the
crematorium. I go there birthdays, anniversaries, mothering Sunday and christmas. When I've polished plaque and laid my flowers there's this little
quiet room you can go to. I like to go there and read the messages and poems
people have left there for their loved ones. I sometimes sit and pen a few down because I like collecting poetry. On one particular occasion when I went in the
quiet room there was already two middle aged ladies in there nattering away and bitching about friends and relatives. I wanted to be there to collect my thoughts and think of my mum but these two old biddies were oblivious to the fact it was a room to be quiet and contemplate. I would have liked to have told them where to go but I didn't, just gave mr. C an earful when I got back in the car.