From here I see the uneven, sun scorched grass

surrounding a small, square hole;

the red granite stone, polished and glittering 

as the sun rays hits it just right;

the engraved letters of your name

accompanied by three significant dates in your life.

From here I see people gathering in silence;

their eyes glistening above their masks 

as they lean on one another.

I see your family, laughing as they remember

all of your little quirks - saving every receipt,

knowing when to quit, and your love for genealogy, mapping out your family tree

to discover the ghosts of your past.

I remember all of the times you were there to make us smile, 

when you used to sketch out Mickey and Donald

as you did your own Donald Duck impression,

those days during the summer when Robin and I went to play games like old maid with you

after going school shopping with grandma - you would never come with

but we would always show off our latest fashion choices once we returned

and you always had nice comments even though you may not have truly agreed with them.

I remember the day we all thought was the end.

You had asked everyone to go to the hospital so you could say your final goodbyes.

There wasn’t a dry eye in the hospital room -

even the nurses weren’t ready to see you go.

But you surprised everyone and kept fighting to live.

Now, I see where your physical remains will lay,

under 6 feet of dirt and a layer of grass.

And with a final echo of goodbye, we walk back to our cars,

leaving you to rest.