I visited my brother’s grave as I was on my way home from spending a couple of days with a dear friend–some much-needed “me” time. I just sat on the ground and wrote him a note. To be honest, I don’t usually like going to cemeteries. They make me sad and remind me of loss and decay. I was by myself on this trip, though, and I wasn’t on a tight travel schedule, like we usually are on road trips, so I decided to stop and sit for a while. This is what I wrote:

I came here to talk to you–well, not converse with you, I suppose–just to get some thoughts out of my heavy heart and burdened mind–

and place them upon the wind.

I think about you often.

I set up your stocking again this year–off to the side in a place of honor–

just to remember.

I wish I could remember every Christmas we spent together–from your first one in Germany (I’m sure there was snow, but I wouldn’t know) to the last one three winters ago. I wish I could remember every gift we exchanged. I remember the year I gave you a pocket knife and whetting stone; you really seemed to like it. Of course, I remember the year we got out much-coveted Cabbage Patch Dolls … and the few years later when you put it away because big boys don’t play with dolls. 🙂  I remember the can of Fix-a-flat that you gave me when I had so many car problems. And the jewelry box that I still use to this day.

I was going to write a poem for you, but really, I just want to talk.

Sometimes, I just need to hear your voice.