Did you see the sky last night, Grandad? It was beautiful. There's that strange tree a few gardens across from us that looks like a Chinese roof and it was silhouetted against the sky. The sky itself was ... well, different. The horizon was pinky orange, like salmon. Then it faded into green, and from there into a dark, dark blue.
You could see the moon. It was bright, with a rim of light surrounding it like a halo. There were stars.
Grandad, it was beautiful. I hope you saw it, wherever you are. It's odd, but I'm even more certain now that you're not nowhere. You're not just gone, past, a memory. You're really there. I don't know where there is but that's where you are. I guess in a way it's sort of reinforced my faith. There is something afterwards. There has to be.
Because if there isn't, Grandad, you're gone. And I can't bear that thought. I'll cling to my hope, however feeble, in the faith that it will keep me going through the difficult times of life, through the pain.
You're not nowhere. Perhaps you're a part of the stars, the universe. You said the universe was like numbers, all already there but not yet named. Well, now there's a new number, and we're going to call it Clive. But you never liked that name, did you? So I'll call it Tom. That's what you wanted to be called. Tom.
That's all for now. But it's lovely weather at the moment, it would be a shame not to mention it. I can see, out of my window, this immensely clear blue sky, with the light shining down and making all the trees glow, really bright green. It's a pity you had to be ill through the cold, because that made you worse. I hope you're enjoying the sun. Wherever and whenever you are.