"Ready?"

I nodded and smiled.

"1... 2... 3!"

My parents counted down together and then, with each holding one of my hands, they lifted me from the ground and into the air, my feet swinging upward like a marionette toward the sky.

I always closed my eyes, preferring to feel the mild sense of fear as intensely as possible, the warmth of sunlight kissing my face, the rush of wind as I came swinging back down to the ground.

"Again!" I would always yell excitedly, and my parents would oblige until their arms were sore and their muscles could no longer lift me into the afternoon sky.

"Ready?"

She nodded and gave a weak smile.

"1... 2... 3."

With a grunt, I lifted her from the bed and, with a fair amount of effort, walked with her impossibly thin body in my arms.

She always closed her eyes, her arm around my neck for support, her head on my shoulder in stolid silence. She preferred to feel the warmth of her son's arms wrapped around her, to experience the quiet moments and beauty, even in the confines of our tiny living room, before her life was to be swallowed by darkness and Winter.

"Ready?"

I nodded.

"1... 2... 3."

I closed my eyes and felt the sunlight's warmth across my face.

The box with her ashes was slowly lowered into the ground; the strong and solidly built oak vessel that held her, the last measure of devotion and labor from her father, my grandfather, was the only thing, as her remains descended into an Earth that was left unbroken.