Thirty-Three
Missing MemoriesAt the back of the courtyard, through the gate in the concrete block wall, lay the small cemetery. The wall acted as a backdrop to thirteen wood crosses, seven on one side of the gate and six on the other. Grass and wildflowers grew over the top of the mounds in front of the markers, the vegetation thicker on some than others. The smell of wet earth from the early morning rain permeated the air. Though a cloudburst had started the day, the sun now shone, promising a bright and humid day. A brown rabbit hopped out from the field and stood on top of the furthest grave and nibbled on a patch of clover, oblivious to my presence.
His grave marker looked no different from any other, and it was no more special. But it should have been. He was my dad.
The name Ian
