I didnât know what I expected when I came here. Six months of telling myself I wasnât ready, six months of finding reasons not to come, and now Iâm here, staring at the ground where youâre supposed to be.
I couldnât move at first. I just stood there, frozen, the cold seeping into my skin, as if my body couldnât make sense of it. Youâre right here, closer to me than youâve been in months, but youâre 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 couldnât wake up from. My legs felt heavy, like they didnât want to carry me forward, like they knew that if I got too close, I couldnât keep pretending this wasnât real. But I did it anyway.
Your name is there. Your dates. And suddenly itâs not just stone anymore; itâs you. Itâs you, and itâs not you, and the world tilts under my feet because it doesnât make sense. You were larger than life, and now youâre thisâa name and a space and a silence so heavy I canât breathe.
I kneel down, my hands trembling as I brush the frost off the stone. Itâs 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.
âIâm here,â I whisper, even though it feels stupid to say. But I have to say it. I have to believe that somehow, youâll know. That somehow, you can hear me, even though I know you canât.
I donât 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 didnât care. None of it mattered.
I thought coming here would make it feel real, but it doesnât. It doesnât feel real that youâre right here beneath my feet. It doesnât feel real that Iâll never hear your laugh again, or see you smile, or tell you all the things I didnât get to say.
When I finally stood, my legs buckled. I turned to leave, but I couldnât. Not yet. I looked back one more time, hoping, praying, that Iâd 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 youâre here, but not here.
And I donât know if Iâll ever be able to accept that.
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