Notes from a graveyard shift

We spend our lives striving, doing, creating. We want to be remembered. There is value in remembering it will all eventually fade. We will be forgotten. Live, at least a little, in the now

- Charles Assisi

On Monday, I went with my wife to a cemetery to exhume her father's remains.

It was a hot day. The kind that doesn't just make you sweat, but makes your skin feel like it is being slow-roasted. The kind of heat that makes silence thicker. Even the shadows seemed reluctant to move.

We were there because the lease on his grave had ended. His bones would be moved to a small niche with his name etched on it. This would be his final resting place.

There was no ceremony. No priest. Just the administrative closing of a chapter.

The undertaker who met us was brusque. This was just something that had been pencilled into his schedule. There was no exchange of pleasantries. He made it clear this task would need to be completed before a funeral scheduled for later that afternoon.

For us, of course, this was no routine moment. My wife stood quietly as her father's remains were collected. I kept my eyes steady, trying to stay composed. But inside, I could feel something shift.