text: A chill runs down my spine as I walk across the dew-covered lawn towards the place I hate most. Weaving through the gravestones, I reach my destination. I come here once a week; in all the years since Mother died, not a single Thursday has gone by in which I have not visited her grave. The thing is, I hate doing it. But now, I have more reason than ever to come here. It brings back painful memories; growing up during the Big War without a father was tough, but Mother and I always managed. We were happy, the two of us. The year Mother got sick was one of the worst of my life. I was only twelve. She spent most of her last days in the hospital; the times she was allowed to be at home, she spent in bed. While she was sick, I thought it must be impossible for me to feel more alone than I did. The day she died proved me wrong. I slowly kneel down in front of Mother’s tombstone. Clouds shift in the sky and the sun is brought out from its confines, rays of its warm light shining through the fog that covers the cemetery. I bow my head in a silent prayer, thinking about this place that brings me so much pain. Behind me, I hear the soft crunch of leaves. I don’t turn around, or even open my eyes; I know who it is, the one who interrupts my time with Mother. “You shouldn’t keep coming here,” She says softly. “It hurts you so much. Why do you keep returning?” I don’t answer immediately. I don’t want to face her. I know that that time will come, but I don’t want it to be now. “I have to come here,” I murmur, barely able to get the words out. “I miss her so much. I feel like she’s here with me when I spend time here. Like she knows I’m visiting her.” Jane sighs. My lovely Jane; I can tell she’s frustrated. “Peter, come home with me. You can’t stay here. You’ll go mad with grief.” Jane’s voice is weak; she sounds close to tears. The emotion in her voice nearly breaks me. The love I feel for Jane is insurmountable; it far exceeds that which I had felt for my mother. To hear such pain in her voice kills me a little inside. But I don’t turn to face her. “Leave me alone, Jane.” I say tersely. I hate speaking harshly to her, but this is becoming unbearable. “You shouldn’t even be here. You can’t be here.” Complete silence suffocates the gravesite. I am certain that Jane is crying by now, even though I cannot hear it. “Peter,” She whispers, her voice racked with sobs. “Please come home. I miss you so much.” Tears start to leak out of my eyes, despite me shutting them as tightly as I could. I try to control my heart rate, but it’s becoming more and more sporadic with every breath. “Jane,” I whisper. “I’m not going home. That house is empty. There’s no longer anything for me to live for.” “No,” She gasps, now sobbing more loudly. “Why on Earth would you say that, Peter?” “Mother is gone.” I say, finally turning to face my wife. “And now, my love... you are too.” Staring in the direction of Jane’s voice, I see only a withered gravestone. My wrinkled hands shake as they come up to pull at my shock of white hair; I fall to my knees and weep.