I never said goodbye…

A few years ago, on a lil day trip to the mountains, we stopped at a quaint little cemetery.  It was beautiful, nestled in beside a trickling creek, the only sounds, that of nature.

I sat on an aged wooden bench  at the foot of a grave. The metal roses caught my eye. Had you a grave, I’d have left a similar trinket. I’d have kept one, as something tangible to touch, for solace, for comfort… for connection.

You didn’t have a funeral, but if you did I wouldn’t have been welcome. Nor would I have wanted to be. For many reasons, circumstances mainly, but I also just don’t like the concept of publicly grieving so soon after a loss. I think we need time to mourn privately. I know some see it as closure, and I respect that, I just prefer not.

For me this little grave yard was a happenstance to sit with you, a borrowed moment, an opportunity for me to acknowledge my grief, to reminisce. It seemed like the perfect place for you, for us.

I’ve not been able to find that graveyard since, a lot of unplanned roads were taken that day. I’m sure if I put my mind to it I could find it, but I think I’d rather just stumble across it by chance again.

I don’t need there to be a specific place to visit or an anniversary to acknowledge. Dates, places, are of no significance. You died.

I’ll think of you any day, any place. And if I want to, I will lay you to rest over and over, wherever I choose - that graveyard, my favourite beach, the annual fair, inside my art, my writing, my heart….

Or I might just let you live on forever.