It was his favorite saying, so of course it was the one they chose. Never mind that no one else would understand the meaning. “Others,” he’d say, “have their own stories to hoard or trim or bloat or be rid of.”
They knew that no matter how far Heaven was, he’d see this and smile.
He’d taught them to let go of what held them down.
“Gone!” he would announce, tossing fistfuls of dirt to the wind to aid the transformation. “You’re free of this. You can move on!”
His motto gleamed above the desert sand.
Gone, but not forgotten.
Photo prompt © Trish Nankivell