I remember when I was really little and my first cat died, we buried her in a cardboard box in the ground, behind the house under a tree. I was sad and angry because I didn’t think it was fair. How dare you take away something that I loved so much. It was fall, and I went out behind the house with a shovel and tears falling from my face. I went to the spot where we buried her, and tried to dig. To see her one last time, because I wanted my friend back, I didn’t want to feel so alone. But the ground was frozen and would not give. I remember a thin glaze of frost gently resting atop the solid dirt. And as I tried and tried to push the shovel deeper it was then that I learned that some things are better left buried in the ground…