Three years ago today, a friend of mine passed away from cancer.

Today, a handful of us went to visit his resting place. We don’t usually see each other, much less all at once, but we got together at a local coffee shop to visit him, to remember what he was like. We met happily, conversing about present events and what we now do with ourselves.

We drove over to the cemetery, and walked in. Before we got to the cemetery, we were lively and talkative. Upon entering, conversation ceased completely. We knew that nothing needed to be said.

Nothing was said.


We stood there for a quarter of an hour, completely silent.

Justin was cremated, and in the cemetery that his remains are kept, there is a wall with a number of glass boxes, all with remains of the dead, pictures, and engravings.

While we were standing, simply staring at his box, I tried to concentrate on his photograph behind the glass and think of memories of my friend.

What I could concentrate on, however, was the reflection of the five of us, side by side, standing silently. The photograph in his glass box was at eye level, right in between my face and my friend’s. All I could see was the group of us, including the deceased, standing against a wall.

A fly buzzed throughout the room. I could hear the sound of construction in the background. My phone went off. I could hear a friend’s phone vibrating in the background.

All of these things kept drawing my attention to the present, and to the reflection in the glass in front of the boxes containing the remains of the dead. All I could think about was the present moment.

What struck me as odd, however, was the juxtaposition of the photograph of my dead friend alongside my face in the reflection, standing next to four other friends of ours.

I was overcome with the feeling that life has to continue, and has to move on. The fact that we are still here is representative of the idea that the deceased are in fact, with us. We feel we cannot move forward without them, yet we continue to live without them in our lives physically, but they remain ever-present in our thoughts and actions. In our memories, no matter how often we really stop to think about them.

The fly kept buzzing around the room, reminding me that we were there, in the present moment, continuing to live, reminding me of where I was, taking my thoughts away from the past.

Reminding me, that the past, in fact, is the past. Something that is gone and will never be, and not something that one needs to worry about. The only thing I could consider was where we were, who we were, and who we will one day continue to be. The past is not to be forgotten, but not to be held on to as if it was all that is real, and all that will ever be.

All of the sounds and emotions, the mere shifting of our bodies in the silence that we attempted to maintain, but the silence that was broken by reality, continually reminding me that we were there. We remain in the present, with only one way to go. We are all still here. Again, the juxtaposition of his photograph with our reflection reminded me that our departed friend remains with us, through us, and will never be gone, despite the fact that we continue.

This instance gave me confidence for the future, that no matter what transpires, the only thing there is is the tangible present, and the possibility of what can come. This instance made me feel that everything is possible.

I went there to remember fondly, and all it took was the buzzing of a fly to remind me of where I was, and where I want to be.