The Tradition of death

Tonight this subject ways heavy on my mind, as I struggle with the unknown of the ways of others. Perhaps I am looking for comfort from a source that seems to be just out of reach or unavailable. I know what I want to say and what I want to do, but it is not his way. I look to the ridge and the passing of the seasons. I remember those who have passed and the visits they have gifted me with. I can only ponder as to where he will want to go and if he will stop by for a visit. Just in case, my candle will be lit to make the path bright. I will sing him to the place he needs to be. This is the only comfort that I know to offer him. The present family  tradition is not true to my heart, but I will stay silent in my words, only offering my personal interjection when I know that it will be received with the love of it's intent. This coming event is not of my ego, but of a remembrance of a hearty laugh, a quirky smile and the heart of gold. I go forth with these memories firmly in my mind to share with the future and those left behind.