First evening of the month ended in a heavy downpour with winds typically experienced here during this time of the year.
Good thing, the family has paid respects to the dead and has somewhat bonded over isaw, peanuts, and other snack treat courtesy of the second sister’s picnic bag.
The father had a realization. He survived longer than his father. Then, there was silence. That made me more aware of my mortality. I don’t think I’ll live to reach 70. I’ve made it known I wanted to be cremated.
See, these are topics when we bond in the cemetery. The youngest aunt had secured a plot (from her retirement pay) with three slots in the new cemetery. There happens to be four of them, so they joked about strategies on how they’d get to the slot first. There were talks about how each etched name died, what they were like, and what they would have been.
This is usually my chance to talk with the father. I know we stay in the same house. This is the one chance he’ll be forced to initiate and keep the conversation with me. Otherwise, he’ll suffer from extreme boredom. He doesn’t have a book with him😀
Then came the rain. Our neighbor was kind enough to share their tent with us. Waited for the winds to calm for about an hour. Then we decided it was time to go home. I’m starting to believe this pair of sandal’s cursed. I go home soaked when I wear this.
With this wind, the umbrella did little to help keep us dry. The father and shared the thing, nonetheless. Soaked. Cold. I wouldn’t want to think about whatever I got from the cemetery waters.
Somehow, this made the list of the best walks home – and I’m not being sarcastic.