When I was a boy, you would take me to catch crayfish on Saturday mornings. We would slog through murky waters along the river's edge, and you would shout at me in your thick Finnish accent, "Don't let it go!" The crayfish always evaded my clumsy fingers, but never yours. In an instant, you could capture one with ease. I always dreamed of being as skilled as you, Grandpa.
But after you passed away, I made a journey to the town where you were born in Finland. I sat along the grassy banks of your childhood river, feeling the cool water between my toes. And there, I gently released your ashes into the crystal blue current. As your remains softly dissipated among the mosaic of river rocks, a crimson-hued crayfish boldly nipped at my ankle. My hand reached out for it instinctively, but instead of scurrying away, it extended its claw as if to say hello.
Very touching
Beautiful!