John

John died on a Saturday. He was buried in the night, where fresh dirt and flowers lay.

An unmarked gravestone.

I don't suppose I'll ever wrap my mind around

The what ifs and the how comes

Of this place

But what I do know

That God is here.

In the happiest man I have ever met.

In the gentlest soul.

In the quietest ponderer, and in the biggest spirit.

In the hardest worker, and the sweetest smile.

I've known these faces

And I'll tell you something. On Monday morning,

As the sweat came down my face, and my neck was hot with the beat of the sun.

As the tears mingled and singed my lips. I gazed up towards the sky.

I looked up at the passing clouds.

They moved so fast, I felt alive.

And a 21 year old boy in a wheelchair held my hand.

He held my hand, and I cried.