The car stops in front of the cemetery.
I open my mouth to ask why we're here, but shut it.
They wouldn't answer anyway.
We make our way through the rows of head stones, trying not to tread over the dirt before each one.
When we stop I look at my family.
My brother is biting his lip. Running a hand through his hair.
My dad is crying silently.
And my mom falls to the ground in front of the grave, bawling.
She drops a bouquet of roses in the process.
I watch them hit the ground, petals wrinkling at the impact.
My gaze makes its way to the granite square.
And everything makes sense.
Because the name on the gravestone is mine.
