The day of the dead

In my country, we call it the day of the dead. It's a sad holiday here. We don't wear masks, or costumes. We go to the cemetery and remember those who died.

I'm lucky. I've only lost my grandfathers, when I was way too young to remember it. That's why I admit, I don't miss them too much, since I've barely even knew them. But I saw a guy today in the cemetery. I know him from high school. He's like 3 years older than me, and I've never even spoke to him, but I knew his mom. She was a friend of my mom. And she committed suicide when I was still in high school.
That kid just stood there, at the grave of his mom today. Silently and alone. Alone in a cemetery filled with people. he looked so strong. Yet it was hard for me to look at him. I acted like, I didn't know who he was. But I'm sure, my mom noticed him too.
I wanted to talk with her tonight, maybe tell her how grateful I am, that she's still with me. But I couldn't make myself go down the stairs and spend an evening together. Even when I'm home, I just sit upstairs in my room. I've been home the whole week, and I've barely even talked to her. Let alone my dad.

Earlier today I met with some kids from the orphanage. They were out with a teacher at the fishing pond. I went there with my dog, to finally enjoy some sunshine. The kids were fascinated by the dog. They were so happy just to touch her. Those kids own nothing in the world. And they don't even have parents...