• I felt a trickle of parse reminiscence flow down my left cheek. As I gaze down at the polished headstone before me, I am taken aback by the tremendous grief it strikes within me.

    Five years ago, on a sultry summer night, I lay sleepless in bed, many different thoughts running through my head. Is he okay? Is he all right? What's wrong with him anyway? A throbbing pain developed in the pit of my stomach as my worry grew. Its thirst for misery would not be quenched until my questions were answered.

    All of my worry was not for naught. At the stroke of nine the morning after my desolate distress, my anguish was worsened by the terrible, heartrending news. He was dead. He was no more. The father I knew was gone.

    And so, I am brought back to the reality I so dread, staring impassively at the headstone impressed with his name. Not a sound could be heard but my frail breath, for not even the autumn leaves dared to rustle in his presence. With my prayers having been finished, I departed, with nothing but my thoughts to keep me company, and nothing but my pulse to keep me alive.