Death of my Grandfather
The cemetery was quiet, still, deserted for many years;
It was bleak and overgrown with weeds, a peaceful world all its own, its inhabitants, the dead.
A world containing all the lives that have been changed, destroyed, lives that may have been joyous, successful, all different, arrived here at the same destination;
The final stop on the runway.
A weeping willow loomed in the corner, creating eerie shadows, a shroud for the dead, bending forward, leaves cascading softly, lamenting the dead.
The quiet world is surrounded by an immense iron gate, padlock rusted and red from years of disuse.
Ages ago, I walked by this gate with you at my side; having adventures and discovering new lands.
You showed me hidden paths you had discovered, explored and enjoyed, so I can someday choose my own path, and walk proudly upon it.
Thinking of you, I walk on a concealed road, known only to me;
I move swiftly, pushing aside clusters of branches attempting to barricade my way, almost crying, “Stop! Only sorrow awaits.”
Resilient and persistent to reach my destination, I cried “Silence, trees, neither you nor anyone can stop me now!”
Out of the jungle I emerge, reaching at last the boneyard of eternal rest.
Alone, abandoned, for who cares to reminisce about the past, knowing it’ll never return?
Ask yourself, how often have you gone to lay flowers for the deceased?
Do the slabs of stone embodying former lives allure you to wonder of what they once had to offer the world?
How frequently have you thought of the meaning of life, and what it’s like to just come to an end suddenly, like a computer powered down, never to open again.
Have you ever wondered about those six feet below, food for the worms, mahogany cases their only protection?
Where do all these souls go?
Gone from earth, and on to a better place, they leave us behind to live our lives, to learn from their past mistakes, to mourn their loss, until we can in the end unite once more.

Making my way amongst the jagged array of stones, like teeth protruding from the earth, I read inscriptions of dates, names, all long forgotten searching and searching for one I seek, until at last!
There it is!
The grave that holds my past, my memories, my sorrows and joys; now at its final resting place, silent and demure.
I look down at the bouquet in my hand, alive and fresh, while around, strewn on the ground, are flowers now wilted.
Like people who, once alive and blooming, eventually languish and die.
As I place the blossoming flowers at your head, hot tears welling up, I kneel in front of your grave, your beautiful grave now covered in moss, chipping away from weathering, decaying to nothing.
I stare blankly as if awaiting some response. Nothing, just silence; I begin to talk as if I were with you once more:
To talk of my problems, to talk of my grief for you, to talk about truth and honesty, society, and my family.
Memories flood in; promises to get better grades kept and broken, your worn wrinkled face never angry, always smiling, stories of giants and fairies filled with laughter and kindness.
I cease to speak;
A strange silence pervades, making me long for some sound, a small pebble dropped, anything to cut through the thick atmosphere of death; I turn back to the stone in anger now.
How can you lie so still?!
Don’t your bones ever ache from all the years of rest?!
Wouldn’t you like to explore the rush of life again?!
To run, laugh, dance in the flaming afternoon?!
Wouldn’t you like to be with me once more?!
You once told me, man tries in vain to avoid death, tries to escape its dark clutches. But can death be an escape?
Do the troubled in life wait impatiently for it, for that moment to never wake, all their worries gone?
I wonder what you would have me do, whether you would approve of my grief or prefer for me to move on, living as you have lived before me, and your grandfathers before you.
With a deep breath, I stand wearily, brushing the dirt from my knees, and give one last glance to the somnolent graves before I turn to leave this morbid world.
Sauntering slowly back to the road from which I came, eyes puffy and red, I think of you lying there; once full of life and energy, a bag of laughter, brightening my day with your half fallen teeth, now still and permanently asleep, forever under the grand willow tree.