shoved the brief memory out of my mind and returned to the present, where I stood in front of his memorial. The grass was overgrown and birds had taken it as their own. What was once a pretty, sleek black, now sat a sun-faded cross covered in white bird shit. I crouched down to clean it up some and drew back instantly. Sitting at the base of the cross was a pure white envelope, crisp and clean, with my name on it. How did anyone know I was coming? How did anyone know what this cross even was?
