The Things That I Know || George Michael

thirty-two - life is too short

"I can't believe it's almost Christmas already. Doesn't seem like five minutes ago, it was New Years Day and we were seeing in twenty-fourteen."

Levi makes light small talk with George, as the pair head down the frostbitten gravelly pathway. The crisp winter atmosphere pinches at their noses, tinging them a warm pink hue, while simultaneously draining the pigment from their cold, white lips. The glistening, browned leaves sit on the ground below them, crunching underfoot as they walk closer towards the grassed area before them.

"Tell me about it. This year has been one of the most eventful years I've ever known," George agrees, his breath escaping as a fine mist in the air as he talks. "But we've gotten through the majority of it, now."

"I have a lot to catch him up on, haven't I?" Levi questions rhetorically, as he finally spots what he's looking for.

His footsteps lightly increase in speed, until he is met face-to-face with the large slate stone he has grown familiar with over the last few decades. He kneels down before it, withdrawing a cleaning cloth from his coat pocket, which he uses to brush old cobwebs and leaves away from the memorial in a bid to spruce the space up a little. He smiles a small, melancholy smile as he reads the beloved name engraved onto the stone.

ANTHONY MICHAEL JONES
APRIL 13TH 1935 - DECEMBER 14TH 1976

A BELOVED FATHER, SON, HUSBAND & FRIEND

FOREVER 41 YEARS OLD

Levi's eyes graze over the words written lovingly in the memory of the man he cherished so dearly. "Hello, Dad."

"His stone has kept incredibly well even after all these years," George comments, conscious of the volume of his voice. "It's looking great."

"I feel as though I don't come here nearly enough," Levi murmurs, feeling slight shame in himself. "But life gets in the way, doesn't it?"

"And today is probably the most suitable day — you know, with it being the anniversary of his passing," George reminds him. "How many years is it, now? I can't quite do the maths."

"It would be thirty-eight years today," Levi answers. "I can't believe it's almost four decades since he died."

"But he'd be so proud of you now," George assures him, reaching down to rest a comforting hand upon his husband's shoulder. "Married with kids, and been through hell and back. He'd be amazed at your strength and willpower."

"I'd like to hope so." Levi nods, feeling it's best not to question his father's opinions when he isn't around to argue his case. "It's funny to me, that he hasn't been around to see any of it, though."

"Unlike my mother," George compares. "Who I was fortunate enough to have around for the large majority of my life."

"Grief as a child — or, a teenager, I suppose — is entirely different to grief as an adult," Levi asserts, as he stands himself back up again. "I was fourteen, perhaps fifteen when Dad died. It felt like my life was over, and yet it hadn't even started yet."

"It's just crazy how different life would have been for you, had he have stuck around for longer," George states. "I wonder whether he'd have liked me. Whether he'd have accepted me into the family."

"My father would have loved you," Levi smiles, evaluating that he has enough insight to determine this. "He loved everyone. Well — he loved everyone who treated him and his family with kindness. He would have accepted you with open arms, my darling."