We are all on top of the hill, standing beside the grave in silence. Mom, Orfeo, Thoas, Priya, Nestor, Hector, Magda, Sofia, Ismini, Clio. The Greek sunset paints the background with the sun resting on the horizon like a red half-orange dipping into the sea.

My mother comes forward with a small stone she took from the beach and places it underneath the photo of her father. She is followed by two of her brothers. One by one they do the same, two more small stones from my grandfather’s favourite place on earth. There are many of those gray stones lying on the marble of the grave, this ritual has been performed many times.

Now we are all just standing again in silence.

This is really tough, I’m thinking.

I look at the date on the grave and remember the day he passed. Fifteen years ago, I was a few months shy of ten. We had stopped by the clinic, Erato and I were sitting in the back of the car. My mom went in with her and I stayed in the car, playing Super Mario Bros on my Nintendo DS, not having realised the gravity of the situation. Then came my uncle.

‘Grandad has left’, he said.

Such weird words, so simple and short for something so big. I still remember how it all felt fake, my mind could not believe that one can say something like that in such a simple manner. Time was frozen for a few seconds as I was stuck in the words, trying to ignore the meaning. Then I cried. Mom came back and hugged me. Her eyes were red, as were Erato’s who was standing by her side.

‘What happened?’, I asked my little sister, ‘What did you see?’

‘I went in and I saw uncle Thoas and he looked sad, and then grandma was sitting in a corner crying, and then mom went to her and they cried together.’

I look at the date again.

How old was he actually?

I can feel the tears coming now, rising up from inside, hastened by the painful memory of being in that car that day. I fight to keep them down, I don’t want them to reach my eyes. I look to my left, everyone is just looking forward, all of them wearing sunglasses except for the twins.

Of course they’ve all got fucking sunglasses.

I go back to the date. I try to add that to today.

How old would he have been today?

My grandfather, the father of my mother. Every year she posts pictures of him on his birthday:

‘I love you so much. I miss you.’

It breaks my heart.

It’s not that hard you idiot, just add fifteen to his age. Keep it together. How old was he again? 1931. Add 70 to 1931 to get 2001. Then? 2010. 2001 to 2010. Nine. Add that to? 70. 79 years old. Wow. And that’s 15 years ago. So 79 plus 15. Four at the back plus two on the front, 94 years.

Grandma is 89. The tears are coming back.

Shit.

I look away, the half-orange is half-covered by a light blue cloud.

But how much older than grandma was grandfather? How old was she when he passed fifteen years ago? 89 minus 15. Five from nine is four, one from eight is seven, 74 years old in 2010. And he was…

My brain is completely empty, I have to do it all over again. But it’s good, for it keeps the distraction going, it keeps the tears away.

1931 to 2010. 70. Ten minus one, nine. 79 years old. 74 and 79, five years difference.

The half-orange has been released by the blue cloud and is back to burning my cheeks.

The cheeky one, he got the best view in the whole cemetery. I remember mom being proud of it. But now it’s hard for grandma to visit him, it’s way too much work for her legs and back. I bet she’s thinking about that back home, knowing we are all here. I bet she wants to meet him again. My grandma.

Here come the tears again.

No, never. You and I are gonna live forever.

The first human to live forever. My grandma. The strongest person on earth, I refuse to think otherwise.

79 years old he got to be.

I look away with my proud, still dry eyes, gaze again at the horizon.

Almost no half-orange left now. I turn to my left, everyone is still silent, smiling.

What the hell are you all smiling for?

Mom is once again the first to make a move. She walks to the right and the rest follow suit.

Great. Leave so I can cry by myself. One, two, four, nine. This family and its children...

A tear breaks through as I look at the distance and I feel the storm coming from deep within. Then a shadow on my right: Clio.

Ten. Fucker.

She looks at me, I look at her. Then, a total nervous and muscular breakdown, my eyelids drown in the tears, my voice cracks as I try to say words without substance. I give my little sister a hug and wave her to go away. She is sad but she understands.

I sit down on the gravel by the grave. Now I’m finally alone. I cry.

Writing