Poor Mary McCoy. She died in 1878, and was deeply loved by her parents John and Jane McCoy. I feel deep gratitude to have been given this beautiful antique tombstone. (I must point out that this is not a stolen tombstone, which is both illegal and spiritually corrupt. Last year, a gravestone carver in a nearby town closed his longtime business, selling or giving away whatever was left in his shop. This 136 year-old tombstone was hidden behind a stack of marble slabs, the top had been damaged during carving so it could not be used. But thankfully someone chose to hold onto it, and my neighbor purchased it for $10 and gave it to me, and now it's one of my most precious belongings.)
Jane and Jane McCoy's love for Mary reminds me that it's the nature of love to be eventually lost. The deeper the love, the greater the loss. And love that is lost is no less beautiful because it's lost. This is why we must strive to make mourning beautiful.
(By the way, I love this time of year. The angle of the sun makes everything golden. And my modest little succulent garden is starting to bloom!)