We are stained in all this blue, falling from a sky insistent on bending our thoughts to the lingering farewell, practically here now - catching us in a whisper of heaven as rays leak through gnarled branches - old and scarred. Feet upon the fallen. We walk upon these lives well lived. We walk upon the dead - history beneath our feet, sod fed by all the yesterdays. Laughter trickles like memory and song over stones bent and weary, all those tears caught in fissures of time, the crunch of sneaker and autumn as the children run - cousins exploring, kins of this nature.
Does he know? Can he hear us tread upon where he soon may lay? Can he sense our purpose in the searching from that white sanctuary, in all it's stiffness and finality?
We find the place. Just here, near the ancient web of wood and leaf, weeping the pages of it's story onto tended lawn - so green among the coffins. Yes. This will do just fine. See, there? We could pack a picnic and remember him there. It's small and quiet and if we listen really hard we'll surely hear him singing all the way from heaven.
I could feel the ending, there, as I kissed his whiskers and he squeezed my fingers so gently - so hard..."You're missing something," he said - cracking.
"What am I missing?" I asked. But he was already focusing beyond me...
"You're missing something..." Again, but he doesn't know what.
But I think I know. I think it's all the rest. All the laughs we won't laugh. All the jokes we won't tell. All the wishes we won't wish. All the days without...
We will let you go. And there is freedom in the letting. We have chosen a place for you to lay your head. Lay it down, sweet man. Lay it down, and we will lay down a foundation of memory so thick that you will live forever in the hearts of those who carry your legacy - in the hearts of those who love you.
There is no weakness in the end. In you, I see nothing but strength.