At my parents' grave

October provides a nice bonus. The bright blue sky and the late summer temperature could easily pass for the end of August. It may be the last nice day before autumn really takes over.

I drive around the back of the old village church, onto the parking lot. The gravel crunches under my wheels. The entrance gate still squeaks. Behind the shed, still the same half-decayed water butt, the weathered plastic watering can and some rusted garden tools.

The grave is on the very edge of the cemetery, in a grassy field with a peaceful view on a meadow with some sheep. There is no one else. Fortunately. It would only disturb the harmonious, almost serene silence of the moment.

After three walks, I have carried the two bags of peat and garden soil, the plants, the filled watering can and the tools to the grassy field. I work calmly and relaxed at the grave for an hour or two, to get everything in order. I dig in the slate pot with dahlias a bit. That way it is in harmony with the rest. I mix the peat with the garden soil and plant the winter heather. White and purple mixed together. I carefully pour water over the newly planted flowerbed and gently press the fresh soil. Finally, I sweep the marble clean.

I take a step back and inspect my own work. I feel satisfied. The grave looks neat. Hopefully some rain later this week will keep the soil wet. It will be a long time after today before I get back here.

I take the watering can back to the shed. The plant pots and bags go into the garbage can. I rinse the tools and my hands clean under the tap of the water butt. Then I walk back to the grave, take some photos and stay there for a while.

Dad and Mom have reached a respectable age, especially considering their old age ailments. They both probably knew themselves, that every additional year was still a gift. Mom was very dependent on help because of her chronic illness. After her death, fortunately without a sickbed, Dad lived in their house for another year and a half. He had difficulty walking, didn't go out much anymore, and slowly but noticeably deteriorated. In the last few months, I always thought that he had had enough. He still did look forward to his birthday, but it didn't come to that anymore.

It is getting to the end of the afternoon. The October air is slowly starting to get clammy. I have put my jacket back on and put my hands in my pockets, while I stand at my parents' grave and memories of the past come flooding back in random order.

You did your best. No doubt about that. It was sometimes difficult. You were certainly not the easiest, but was I? I have often wondered, though, whether both of you had forgotten that you once were young yourselves. As children, we could have enjoyed our youthful recklessness a bit more. I have often felt that I had to continue where you had left off. Or never started. Score with the chances that you never got. Or perhaps never took.

School was central. Fortunately, I was a reasonable student, but I also sometimes got into mischief, sometimes had enough of school. And I also had hormones pumping through my body.

I will certainly have caused sleepless nights. Wrong friends, wrong girlfriends, running away from university, my divorce, my emigration to a faraway country… I understand. That's what parents are for.

Still, it would have been nice if you had put things into perspective a bit more. After all, I got my diplomas properly, I never had any trouble with the law, apart from a blown-off parking ticket. No drug addictions, no binge drinking, only one visit to the hospital, and until I was 17, I was home at 11 o'clock. Yes… a few nuances would probably have made life a bit smoother for all four of us.

But you did your best. All after all, it didn't hurt us as children. We ended up well. And you certainly contributed to that.

After fifteen minutes, the clammy cold starts to creep into me. I enjoy it, want to hold on to this peaceful moment for a little while longer. The sky is now partly overcast and the low sun casts long shadows over the cemetery. The clock strikes five. I better go and take this beautiful moment with me.

For in the plane.

Bye Dad… bye Mom…

See you next year.