Grave
Midnight, and the air is thick with frost.
That’s the way I like it, alone and with time to think I meander around the graves. It’s not the first time my thoughts have needed silence. I am meant to be getting milk, but that can wait half an hour.
I sit cross legged in front of my father’s grave ready for one of our lengthy discussions. I tell him about my day, and he listens. Problems shared with him are halved in the dark of night.
‘It’s just I feel so lonely, it is strange being away from family and friends,’ I say, looking at the year of his demise.
It has been over thirty four years, but he is with me always. I could trust him with my worries then, and I can trust him now. There are things you cannot say to family because you don’t want to make a fuss.
I get up, and as I turn, something warms me from the inside out. I can almost hear him saying it will all be okay – to stay strong and let love guide you. Ready to go home, I understand that this day will pass and worrying can’t solve problems, love does.
Writer Ravenclaw 