Today is one year to the day that we buried Daddy, and I wonder if I subconsciously knew. That might explain my somber mood today.

I remember that it was Grandma, Grandpa, Auntie Anne, Mum, and I. Father Tobin was there to preside. I had only ever been to one burial. Mum and I went together. We decided after that ceremony, that we did not to be buried. Winter is too cold for people to attend the burial. We both decided on cremation.

The man who worked for the cemetery pulled my aside to explain that the grave had some water in it. As it was spring, the ground thawed, it had not yet had a chance to absorb. He wanted to tell me so that I could tell everyone else as to not be shocked. It was so odd to bail water out before placing Daddy carefully inside. But the man said that it was normal, and us not knowing any better, trusted in him.

And I remember that as we put him in the dug out hole, we each put in a rose to surround the urn. And in the close background, the bulldozer hovered, ready to fill it in as we finished. I watched with curiosity the man in the hard hat, checkered shirt, and well worn jeans. And I wondered how many people he had seen in mourning. Had it lost meaning?

I remember that after the prayers were said, we lingered. I think we did not know what to do and we did not want to leave. And we waited until the ground had been filled in before we left. I think that we wanted to make sure that he was safe.

And then, it was over even though he had passed 15 weeks earlier. Long since gone, the reality like the earth had still to be absorbed.