I went today to help fulfill one of my mom's requests. In 1958, my parents had a son. Paul Lee lived only 24 hours, and was ultimately buried at the feet of my paternal grandmother, who had died only a couple of years before. My mom asked that, after she died, we move Paul to the foot of her grave (or thereabouts.)
That meant dealing with two cemeteries, two county governments and a funeral director. As if that wasn't complicated enough, 52 years had not been kind to the remains of a 7-month infant buried in a simple container. Eddie the gravedigger dug carefully, but all that was found was discolored soil. We filled a small container with it, leaving some and his marker at the original cemetery. We took the container to the new one, interring him right over Mom's heart/lap area.
We then went to a local, family-owned monument company, where we picked out what looks to be a simple, dignified marker. It will have a little camping (their favorite activity) scene along with the names of my parents and brother.
Every piece of this day was handled quietly, personably and with great respect. I am so thankful!