Life is for living, you would have said. I cannot visit your grave mum, it is too far away and anyway, you are not there for me - rather you are here, in me, in the girls, in plants and flowers and trees, in the fields that surround our house, in the new lambs bleating behind their mothers, in the upturned ducks that are swimming on our pond, in the pink blossom just breaking on the trees in our front garden, in the orchid standing over your picture on my window ledge. But never, never in a grave. You are here, though, when I visit this site and see your smiling face.