I dreamed I went to visit your grave last night, Daddy.

It was somewhere far away and hard to get to. The gravestones were built into this massive hill, so many too many huge gravestone and monuments, crowded together. People were everywhere and there were no trees or flowers. We had to push through everything, and I was constantly afraid I'd fall off the hill. We finally got to yours; we'd built a massive bronze bust on top of it for you. It was pretty ugly, Dad, I'm not going to lie.

I'm glad it's nothing like that in real life. But I worry, Daddy, about the cemetery, now that winter is coming. I know you're long gone but I think about your body, about your coffin, about piles of dead leaves and flowers wilted by the frost. I think about your bare grave site, since we can't put in the headstone until the spring. I'm sorry about that, Daddy. I wish you didn't have to lay there without something to mark where you are. I wish you didn't have to lie there at all, not yet, anyways.