I suppose some would call it a shrine, I prefer to call it a collection of memories. I don’t remember exactly who or where each item came from; I only know that people brought things. More in the beginning than lately. I am grateful for each and every item. Each one is a great representation of pieces of you.
And the overall picture is a great representation of the summary of you.
I hate that there is a summary of you; a beginning and an end. There should not be an end. I don’t have a profound sense of anything knowing that I saw a life from beginning to end. Maybe it should be deeply meaningful to me; the stuff great poetry is written about but it is only sad and senseless to me. I was not supposed to know the end of your story; you were supposed to be here for the end of mine.
Gone, Never Forgotten