9

Calcified bones from spent lives etched in stone above and around you. You lie with others unable to hear or meet these words on any page. It's cold even though you won't feel it. Part of me wants to introduce the others with whom you lay to somehow warm that place with blankets of sunlight. That would make me feel better about you being there since you have to be there. Another area of my mind faces an equal challenge: Whether I should be thinking about you as my Dad, or as a person or after 9 years, as being gone.