Seven days ago I lit the first joss sticks of my life and bent down to caress the ground that shielded a man who walked a long and meaningful life. My fingers were numb from the winter cold and every breath turned into mist in the chilly winter morning, but nothing felt colder than the stone that lay so lifelessly in front even though it was carved with words of gold, even though it was blooming with flowers of lovely hues.
I may have forgotten the countless number of times I have knocked on your door, and I may have forgotten that I am growing up every year when I return to see you – and you are growing older.
But I remember when my father shed tears for the first time I have seen in my entire life,
I remember the ache of you not managing to mouth your last words.
I remember the calmness of my grandmother completely torn apart;
I remember the looking at the photograph when it was still at home – but now it’s on your tomb stone.
I hope the mountain view will suffice, now that every day you get to look at the birds fly past.
And time will now stop forever for you because the last 89 years went by without waiting for you.
Is it warm inside? I heard it cost a lot to have the stone sealed air-tight. Is it exciting to lead a new life? I’ve always imagined it was better after life.
It’s snowed harder this year than any other year. Stay warm.
; 