She stared at the rusty white gate. She looked down at the parcel she was holding. It was wrapped in newspaper. As if the parcel was a talisman giving her strength, she pushed open the gate as much as the rust allowed and walked through.
"I wonder which one it is. Oh god. I dont want to leave it on the wrong one". Her thoughts were racing. She walked towards the far end of the cemetary. The numerous crosses that marked the final resting place of each person there, didnt have any markings.
Some were large and some were smaller. most of them were the same brown wood, fairly old. Some graves had grave stones. Some had flowers and others laid bare. Some crosses were ornately carved and others were simple.
But each marked the place of a person. Someone who was once loved.
which one was the one she needed to find?
She walked anyway. "I'll find him. Help me, God." She thought. As she walked among the countless crosses with no markings.
There was a grave with flowers all around it. It had a headstone. She stopped and looked at it for a while.
"It doesn't feel like the right one. Maybe i should keep looking". She thought to herself.
She stood where she was and looked all around her.
She saw the white cross.
She walked up to it and saw that it was also unmarked,
"Oh but how silly of me, I'm facing the wrong way." She said out loud. Slightly startled at the sound of her own voice. She walked around it and saw that all of the crosses and headstones were marked. Each and every one. She had just been looking at them from the wrong way.
The white cross was at the head of a grave covered in fresh lawn. And when she saw the words painted on, so carefully, tears came to her eyes.
Because she remembered him. And isn't it a strange thing? We remember the dead and that is what makes it painful. She remembered how silly he could be, how serious he could get. She remembered all the times they had talked and the way he was so un-apologetic about his opinions. She almost laughed when she thought, "He was probably the first one to tell me swearing didn't sound right for me."
Then the tears came. She pulled out a tissue from her bag and dabbed at her eyes. Next, as if in a trance, she pulled off the newspaper from the parcel and stuffed it in her bag. She looked at the bouquet of white lilies for a second and then placed them in the center of the grave.
"White, for peace and purity, from two friends who will always remember you." She said out loud. And feeling as if it wasnt enough, she said what she remembered of a prayer that she always loved.
"Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am the thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glint in the snow.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there,
I did not die. "
As she left the cemetery, a gentle winter breeze tickled her face. She pulled open the gate and walked away. Her soul at peace for now.
16.07.95 Blake Noah DeSilva 10.01.13
I remember him well.
"I wonder which one it is. Oh god. I dont want to leave it on the wrong one". Her thoughts were racing. She walked towards the far end of the cemetary. The numerous crosses that marked the final resting place of each person there, didnt have any markings.
Some were large and some were smaller. most of them were the same brown wood, fairly old. Some graves had grave stones. Some had flowers and others laid bare. Some crosses were ornately carved and others were simple.
But each marked the place of a person. Someone who was once loved.
which one was the one she needed to find?
She walked anyway. "I'll find him. Help me, God." She thought. As she walked among the countless crosses with no markings.
There was a grave with flowers all around it. It had a headstone. She stopped and looked at it for a while.
"It doesn't feel like the right one. Maybe i should keep looking". She thought to herself.
She stood where she was and looked all around her.
She saw the white cross.
She walked up to it and saw that it was also unmarked,
"Oh but how silly of me, I'm facing the wrong way." She said out loud. Slightly startled at the sound of her own voice. She walked around it and saw that all of the crosses and headstones were marked. Each and every one. She had just been looking at them from the wrong way.
The white cross was at the head of a grave covered in fresh lawn. And when she saw the words painted on, so carefully, tears came to her eyes.
Because she remembered him. And isn't it a strange thing? We remember the dead and that is what makes it painful. She remembered how silly he could be, how serious he could get. She remembered all the times they had talked and the way he was so un-apologetic about his opinions. She almost laughed when she thought, "He was probably the first one to tell me swearing didn't sound right for me."
Then the tears came. She pulled out a tissue from her bag and dabbed at her eyes. Next, as if in a trance, she pulled off the newspaper from the parcel and stuffed it in her bag. She looked at the bouquet of white lilies for a second and then placed them in the center of the grave.
"White, for peace and purity, from two friends who will always remember you." She said out loud. And feeling as if it wasnt enough, she said what she remembered of a prayer that she always loved.
"Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am the thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glint in the snow.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there,
I did not die. "
As she left the cemetery, a gentle winter breeze tickled her face. She pulled open the gate and walked away. Her soul at peace for now.
16.07.95 Blake Noah DeSilva 10.01.13
I remember him well.
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