The day of the burial, the weather was beautiful.My mother didn't bring white eustomas.She said everyone had already sent enough.She brought a small pot of mint.It was the one I'd kept on my apartment windowsill.I always forgot to water it. Every time the leaves wilted, I'd carry it to her.She'd take it, scold me, and trim away the dead leaves.A few days later, I'd be able to carry a pot of lush green mint home again.Now, she placed it beside my headstone."Mom will take care of it from now on."My father pressed down the loose soil in front of the grave.He'd been busy all morning.Helping my mother find her coat, gathering the documents, checking whether the car had arrived.Even after everyone else had left, he was still crouching there.My mother called him.He answered, but didn't stand up."Is this place too far?"He asked."What if she wants to come home at night?"My mother covered her mouth.My father looked up. His eyes finally reddened."When she was little, she'd cr
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