I lived less than a hundred meters away from an old village cremation ground and witnessed the unceasing flow of processions, sometimes weekly, sometimes monthly. The solemn groups of family, friends and community members who carried the deceased on their final journey to fires of dissolution all passed by my small abode.
A heart-rendering documentation of loosing the person closest to you. I held his hand all night, we talked, actually I talked, he was in a coma, I pretended he remembered and we laughed a bit, I told him how much I would miss him, how I was a strong woman and he knew I would be okay. Boy did I lie.