Oh, Kay. True, that. I once drove 5 hours with my ex to visit his grandmother’s grave. In a cemetery I’d never been to. We opened the wrought iron gates and walked in and I could hear babies crying. Shrieking and wailing, really.
I walked straight to the sound, with my ex following. All he saw was the names of three little ones on a shared headstone. The names on the headstone were not all I saw. I asked him to walk away so I could sit with them.
It started when I was small, too. My parents skipped the pride and amusement part and went straight to fear and concern.