Happy One Year in Heaven.

      I went to a restaurant with some friends today. I was broke and not very hungry so I didn't order anything. I was also irritatingly chilly, so I held the tealight candle that was at the center of the table. For a good ten minutes, I just cupped the little flame in my hands and stared. As I watched it, I thought about how candles and humans are alike in how they come to an end. It's easy to tell when a candle is about to disappear into a curl of smoke; the wick gets tiny and surrounded with melted wax, the flame grows bluer, shorter, and flickers. Humans develop wrinkles, grey hair, and hunched shoulders. They both reveal tell-tale signs that they've been shining for a long time and may soon dim.
      However, both can disappear without a moment's notice. Candles fade with the gentlest breeze or sizzle out with a single stray drop of rain. We as humans are just as fragile, being taken away with one mutated cell or one misstep on a busy street.

      My mom was a glowing, beautiful light. She was the strongest human being I had ever met. But one day, a drop of rain took her away from me, and she was gently lifted to the sky as a delicate swirl of smoke. She's been up there for one year today. I love you, mom. I am happy that you are finally burning brighter than ever, where there is no danger, no illness, and no rain.
Happy One Year in Heaven.