I know that you probably don’t have time to read this, but I just want to let you know that I love you and so does dad. You may not believe it, or want to, but he will miss you. So will I.
I’m sorry, I don’t visit as often as I should, but at even the mention of you all I can remember is how pale and still you were. Un-moving. Dead to the world.
Gran comes around to see dad more often now- you should hear his moaning. ‘I’m a grown man,’ he would grumble when she arrives at the door, trying to make me laugh. To humour him fake a shaky giggle and a wonky grin. If he catches me in my web of lies, he doesn’t let on…’
How to go on? Mum. Fragile and pale, bony fingers and brittle strand of hair hanging limply on your bulging collar bone. Veins tattooed onto your skin, blue and green. Still. Your face cold and hard. All of your once youthful body, shattered, rotting away under piles and piles of soil; only a grave stone to remember you by.