Technically, I know that you're not supposed to be thinking about all your memories when someone dies but that's crap. Standing here, the rain pouring down on us and dripping down the sides of my umbrella as I tug at my black suit, Jordan and Dix standing on my left, and Alex on my right along with my family. Most of them. It's the reason we're here on this day of course. The standard procedure carries out, the Wardens all gather in a circle around the coffin, place a hand on the coffin and say their words. Then, the guests come around and shake our hands, muttering their condolences, the closest ones brushing away a glint of a tear, the strangers just bowing their heads in silent respect.

Speeches are over, and it's time. I cross the walkway and walk over to my father's coffin, kneeling at the edge. Tears brim my eyes, but I save them for later. Dad is lying there peacefully, hands crossed together, his eyes shut, face shaved and hair trimmed. They've stuffed him in some horrible suit I know he would hate, probably tugging at the tie like I did earlier. Medals decorate his pocket, pins designating his promotions and achievements. The one thing that isn't there is the thing that pains me the most. Memories.

"Goodbye, Dad. I-I love you." The words come easily, but I save most for later. Evie and the rest of the family cry freely, whispering words for no one else but them and Dad. Suck it up Ronnigan. My inner tough guy voice speaks, but no. One by one, a tear trickles down my cheek. Salty. Sad. One after the other, until I cry like there's no tomorrow because it hits me over and over that, I'll never speak to him again. Tears of love, tears of sadness and despair, tears of memories, happy, anguished, hurt. When I'm ready, I back away and resume my position, some part of me hoping that my Dad is going to leap out of that coffin and come back to us. Back to me.

Six Wardens come up and pick up Dad's coffin, and slowly march away into the distance. Everyone swivels to face the coffin as it faces away, and in a smooth, synchronised movement, salute William Ronnigan, the best father, husband, warden, and man there was.

=======================================================================

One hour later

Knees bent onto the mossy forest floor, I bow my head at the tree that lies in front of me. The 'Dad Tree', the one he always loved. Concentrating hard, I dig furiously at the dirt, tears streaming down my face, dirt and soil building up in my nails but I don't care. Soon, the hole is big enough and I brush stray twigs and leaves out of the way. From the bag behind me, I pull an engraved wooden box, with intricate leaves, trees, forests and branch carved in, all surrounded by all the Ronnigan's names entwined with one another.

I open it and reach into the bag behind me again. Held together by a rubber band is a collection of photos that I've collected over the years, each one holding a memory dear to me. Beaches, laughter, riding, pain, trips, adventures, but most importantly they all had him in it. I gently look through all of them and place them into the box. Next, a torn note from the time I got into a fight with him, and he left me a handwritten note, words of love and hope, apology and forgiveness.

In my anger, I tore it up, leaving the pieces scattered on my bedroom floor (which was also littered by old socks and bits of candy wrappers. Mum would have had a fit if she had seen it, but she didn't.) Later, I picked up the small pieces, tenderly taped them back together and read it over and over.

I know you probably hate me right now, and perhaps I deserve that. I would have been worried if we'd never argued in our whole lifetimes. No point writing a cheesy note, but I want you to know two important things:

One. I will always love you, no matter what

Two. If you-if you give up, if you feel down, if you never want to see the light of day, remember this: what do you love, what do you need, and what makes you smile, what makes you want to get up out of bed and do this something. Do this something because it has meaning.

Bear, I love you. With all my heart, all my being to the stars, the moon and back, I love you Barnold Ronnigan. I love you.

Tears continue falling, splotching onto the floor and I sniffle. I place the letter into the box, and one by one I sort through my memories from my bag and I put them inside my box. With a snap, I close the lid and put it inside the hole. Quickly, I scoop the dirt back over it, making a small mound.

In the base of the tree, using my pocket knife I carve ten words. I love you to the stars, the moon and back. My face is damp, wet and I brush the tears away. A soft crunch of leaves and sticks from behind me sounds, and I turn to see Declan.

"Dec- I."

"You can't just disappear on us like that Bear."

"I know."

"Look if you need me to go I can-"

"No. Stay."

Dec joins me as I huddle my knees to my chest, my bum on the damp grassy floor, hearing the chirps of the birds, the squelch of Dec trying to reposition his bum, the soft sound that enveloped me and left me in a cocoon of safety. We sit there for half an hour, not speaking a word until I utter "He loves me to the stars, the moon and back Dec."

He turns and hides his surprise swiftly, masking it with a caring smile, looping a hand around my shoulders. "He loves you to the stars, the moon and back, B."