rites of passage

We’re the kind that come together on a graveyard. From different corners of the country like little magnets we get pulled - to congregate and stand by the grave-side of the ones that do the pulling. Those that had been and are now gone. Those that define, and those that went so long ago that there’s no-one left to remember. Someone in their time that had to leave in their time. On my family plot - I bring flowers and I bring candles and I walk across and on top and all over their graves and... do they even know..., much less about me?

We discuss funeral arrangements, and who wants to be and rest where and how we want to be disposed of. It’s morbid, so we joke to make it easier.

And then we take a drive back and we feel whole. We get take-out coffee that so appropriately comes in Xmas-red cups, and probably feel the closest we’ve felt in a long while. With my sister at the wheel and no longer my dad. Mom fussing with snacks and soft drinks. We rise questions and make family council decisions. A rites of passage for the best family in the world.

- I love you -