Paper Flower


I stood at your grave today and watched all these people decorate it with most sensational of flowers.
Yours was easily the prettiest spot in the whole yard...not that that was a price anyone would crave.
Someone must have heard you talk about daffodils at the hospital because the entire hospital crew brought those.
Even now, I can hear you joking about the lucky hell-bound fellow who got to sell all of it.

When six months became a year, two, and then four, we figured you'd beat the big C.
You made it your thing to remind us that science and yourself, the only big C, were the ones involved in your miraculous survival.
I still feel the same way about life and time as I did when you were here Cariole.
And I know you would have asked why my all-powerful C had His hands folded while your routine check-up became a "cancer come back".
I still don't have all the answers. For your sake, I really wish I did.
But I'm still sure and want to tell you that God is good and is full of love and that life is worthless if eternity is not guaranteed.

I wish for your sake that hell were not real. Because, according to your verdict, it would not only mean that we never get to meet again, but also you would be sharing a cell with florists!
I can almost feel your corpse shuddering at the mere thought of that.

I stood for six hours at your grave today.
I wondered what you'd have done with all the flowers.
There was a trashcan nearby that would have gladly housed the little garden your grave top had become. But the rain came, drenched me, and also messed up the flowers arrangements. So that's taken care of, almost like nature's tribute to you.

For now, I'll hold as gold this last thing from you.
In hopes, that time will not wring me of its worth.


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