Today is my mother's first death anniversary. We had a memorial service for her at the church yesterday, followed by a visit to her grave where we paid our respects and offered prayers for her soul. We hired a florist to decorate the grave. My brother placed the bouquet of red roses. My dad and I placed a few frangipani, which I had picked up from the ground outside our cottage at the resort we're staying at. A stranger walked up to the grave and began strumming his guitar and sang a beautiful song about mothers. As we walked out of the cemetery, thanking our friends and relatives for being there, I realised that grief is perhaps the thread that holds together the fabric of our lives. It transcends every conceivable boundary and difference. It plays out over several acts but is far from linear. And no, the curtain never comes down on grief.