Ethan

The day of Michael’s funeral was heavy and gray. I watched the last drop of rain slide down the window.

The funeral home was filled with so many whispers and people crying quietly. Friends and family gathered, their eyes red and tired. I just stood there and was constantly looking at the place where Michael used to sit.

The coffin was closed, and I imagined him inside, just as I remembered him, full of life but now gone. I couldn’t believe what was happening.

People shared stories of Michael. Each story was a reminder of what we had lost. I wanted to speak, to shout out my love for him, but it seemed useless here.

When it was my turn to say goodbye, i chose to simply tell him I love you. That he forever, will be my little brother. I love you, I told him once again without the need to say it more often. I felt like he was listening, I felt that he was here, reaching and understanding my pain.

They were burying my soul there.

I stood alone by the grave. The sky started to clear, a weak sun over the clouds. It felt wrong, as if the world should stay dark forever.

Michael was gone. The pain was overwhelming, and as I looked at the empty grave, I felt like part of me was buried there with him.

My brain stopped for some minutes, a place where thoughts of my mom, my dad, and even the dog who always went on walks with us should have been. All I could think of was myself, this raw, selfish grief that consumed me. I wonder aloud if this makes me egoistic, this focus on my own pain. I want to scream against the heavens, against whatever force it is that takes souls away. God, the Universe, fate. I want to fight against injustice, to question why Michael was taken from us so soon.

I crave just a little more time with him. I want to see him grow old, to watch him fall in love, to witness him experience the simple joys of life. I ache for the chance to see Michael become everything he was meant to be.

Michael is gone, but I will carry his spirit, letting it be a part of every step I take from here on.