I hate going to your crypt. I hate it, I haven’t gone there since your birthday, I think. See I don’t even remember, ’cause I hate going there. I know, everyone says I should go, because I have to go visit you every once in a while but I hate it. I hate it cause I have to see it, I have to see you reduced to a small box in a wall, with your name on it. I hate having to see my niece’s note to you, telling you how much she loves you and misses you. I hate that. Most of all I hate feeling like I don’t want to leave, like if I had the opportunity I’d stand there forever, because I don’t like leaving you there. I left your side most of the time when you were in the hospital, ’cause no one else would do what I was sent to do. I hate it mom, I hate feeling bad because I haven’t come to see you in months now, but how can I if I always feel so miserable standing in front of that crypt, which doesn’t show how awesome you really are, awesome not only to me but to others.
I hate it mom. I really hate it.