Recently, I’ve found myself dwelling on the past. Maybe it’s just a phase, but I hope it’s a sign of maturity, that I’m moving into a new stage of my life. Usually, I find myself thinking about a dreary February day I spent in Toronto. I was there for my grandfather’s funeral. I can’t recall much because I was seven. However, there are few things I remember: heavy, gray clouds smothering the sun, the gloominess and gray scale of a suburban Toronto cemetery, and the hoards of somber and unknown people, all lost to the sadness and reverence of those final moments.
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