Death is one of those things that no one really understands how to handle. We all stand around and look at each other, say nice things about the dead people, say nice things to each other, vow silently to be better to each other and not neglect our duties to our fellow man. The shock wears off and we go back to warily touching each others lives no more often than necessary and living inside ourselves.

Children go through the legacy of the parent...A legacy written through old record albums, books, clothing and scraps of paper, old receipts from ages past, legacies from the previous generation passed down. Spouses left behind sit beside windows and see ghosts working in the flower gardens or in the yard. Mothers hear the voices through the walls.

Nothing changes noticeably. We still hang on to our fleeting mortality and tell ourselves that we could handle things better if we would just be stronger. We watch the workings of grief from our fighting corners and silently beseech ourselves not to cry--not to show that weakness that would be our undoing.

We convince ourselves that in our silence we only grow stronger

And stronger
And stronger...