I still loved Granny. It flowed out of my chest. With Granny gone, where would my love go?

I wish I’d paid better attention. I didn’t yet think of time as finite. I didn’t fully appreciate the stories she told me until I became adult, and by then I had to make do with snippets pasted together, a film projected on the back of my mind.

Granny always said finding justice was as tough as putting socks on a rooster.

When he died, all things soft and beautiful and bright would be buried with him.

Death is tough for the people left behind on earth.

I think back to the day I stood before my wife's grave for the final time, and turned away from it without regret, because I knew that what she was was not contained in that hole in the ground. I entered a new life and found her again, in a woman who was entirely her own person. When this life is done, I'll turn away from it without regret as well, because I know she waits for me, in another, different life.