I have a story but I apologise if it offends anyone.
I am not new to death, I’ve seen people go all my life. Not to say I’m all gloomy because of the loss, but I must have became numb to the situation. At least that was before my good friend Gabriel passed away. A few years back I lost my homie, a person that I could always count on. When he was buried, I got un-numb to this hurt, this wasn’t another funeral in my life. This was his time to go, my friend was moving on to the next challenge.
They say the passing of someone should be a celebration of life, a life that was lived, important memories to hold and be thankful for. Two people told me that he passed away, I knew it was true. He had called me a couple of months before just to say what’s up and that a mutual friend of ours was looking for me. That was the last time we spoke.
My father is buried at the same cemetery.
I visit my dad, not as consistently, but I was at his grave last year. In the back of my mind, I know that he is also buried here. After I’m done visiting with my dad I will go pay my respects to my homie.
I start walking to Gabriel’s grave. A flood of emotions crash my head and suddenly I’m reminded of the toll of losing a friend. The realization of being in the world without that voice.
I can’t find his tombstone.
I’m walking around in circles, I know he’s here somewhere. Trying to hold back tears and I can’t even locate his site. I don’t how long it took me, I started to think that maybe Gabriel was above looking at me, laughing because I was lost in the cemetery.
Me thinking of Gabriel watching, made me smile. I must look like a lost ant wondering around the mounds.
I feel better suddenly, I know if I take my time, things will appear.
I find his cross. I miss that guy.