March...

March approaches. In an hour or two. The 8th was Summer's fall. The 18th the day she passed. A couple months ago - I wrote of this somewhere, probably not here - I was at her grave. I'd been there for an hour or so. It was dark. A car pulled up. I said to her "Here come your parents, sweetheart". It was her Dad on his own. I stood up as he approached and soon fell into his arms. "You really loved her", he said. "I still do", I cried. Somewhere I wrote this. But the next thing he said was "we can't just do this (grieve inconsolably) for decades. It'll be a year in March but then..." And he trailed off because how we can we not? What can be done? We'll all try to try harder, sweetheart. But life is so lonely, the world so empty and wrong without you.