We bundle in raincoats and scurry to a slab of marbled stone. We stand like wilted sunflowers amidst the cadenced patter of raindrops. I glance at our oldest daughter. She is reciting a prayer, silently, or perhaps her lips are weeping, I cannot say, for the rain hides all tears. We breathe a deep breath and bid farewell, as if you are really there, six feet under in a sunless loam, waiting.
Paul Rousseau (he/him/his) is a semi-retired physician and writer published in The Healing Muse, Blood and Thunder, Hektoen International, Intima. A Journal of Narrative Medicine, The Human Touch, Pulse. Voices From the Heart of Medicine, Please See Me, Months To Years, (mac)ro(mic), 433 Literary Magazine, Sunspot Literary Magazine, The Examined Life, Dr. T. J. Eckleburg Review, Tendon, and others. Nominated for The Best Small Fictions anthology from Sonder Press, 2020. Lover of dogs.
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