Posted on Saturday, August 15, 2009
His body was discovered in the bedroom late in the evening. Still warm, but limp; the setting sun glinted into once vibrant eyes that were now painfully vacant. It was agreed that there was no point in calling for help, the diagnosis was unavoidably death. I heard a gasp, and a muffled *pop* as a hand was clasped firmly to a mouth with shock. It might have been me.
It was decided that there was no point in putting off the inevitable, this body before us was just a husk, a vacuum swirled where his cheerful voice one rang… it was too painful to leave him there. We spoke of how much we would miss him as we made preparations, and hoped his passing was peaceful.
By the graveside, tears slowly fell and a prayer was spoken with a cracked voice, its owner soothed with a hug and a meek pat on the arm. When the last clod of soil covered a letter of love that lay on top of the frugal coffin and was patted down neatly, we began to walk away.
One member of the small congregation remained behind at the grave and spoke her final words;
“We should get a yellow one now!”