
It’s Saturday and the sky has been grey all morning. From the funeral service to the countryside for the burial, there’s sadness and reflection. As you’re standing there trying to fight back the tears, the sky opens up and it starts pouring. People comment that it’s a blessing as their voices become dull background chatter. Making your way through the thick mud to put that rose with your kiss on it as a final goodbye to your favourite Uncle, someone calls you Maressa.