I didnāt know what I expected when I came here. Six months of telling myself I wasnāt ready, six months of finding reasons not to come, and now Iām here, staring at the ground where youāre supposed to be.
I couldnāt move at first. I just stood there, frozen, the cold seeping into my skin, as if my body couldnāt make sense of it. Youāre right here, closer to me than youāve been in months, but youāre not here at all. How can you be? How can this patch of earth, this piece of stone with your name carved into it, possibly hold everything you were?
I took a step closer, and it felt like walking into a dream I couldnāt wake up from. My legs felt heavy, like they didnāt want to carry me forward, like they knew that if I got too close, I couldnāt keep pretending this wasnāt real. But I did it anyway.
Your name is there. Your dates. And suddenly itās not just stone anymore; itās you. Itās you, and itās not you, and the world tilts under my feet because it doesnāt make sense. You were larger than life, and now youāre thisāa name and a space and a silence so heavy I canāt breathe.
I kneel down, my hands trembling as I brush the frost off the stone. Itās so cold, colder than I thought it would be, and I wonder if you felt this cold when you left us. I wonder if you were afraid, or if you knew how much we loved you. How much I still do.
āIām here,ā I whisper, even though it feels stupid to say. But I have to say it. I have to believe that somehow, youāll know. That somehow, you can hear me, even though I know you canāt.
I donāt know how long I stayed there, my hand resting on the stone like I could reach through it, like I could pull you back to me. The wind bit at my face, the cold settling into my bones, but I didnāt care. None of it mattered.
I thought coming here would make it feel real, but it doesnāt. It doesnāt feel real that youāre right here beneath my feet. It doesnāt feel real that Iāll never hear your laugh again, or see you smile, or tell you all the things I didnāt get to say.
When I finally stood, my legs buckled. I turned to leave, but I couldnāt. Not yet. I looked back one more time, hoping, praying, that Iād see you standing there, waving me off the way you always used to.
But there was only the grave. Only the cold. Only the impossible truth that youāre here, but not here.
And I donāt know if Iāll ever be able to accept that.
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