Whenever I go home I visit Josh's grave. Josh was a boy I dated in high school. He had a devilish grin and brilliant eyes.
He was killed on a motorcycle while we were in college. I was attached to him on many levels bc we kinda grew up together as he was my best friends step brother and through everything he was a friend in the "Stand By Me" kinda sense.
When he died a bit of me died too, a large part of my invincible skin rubbed right off that summer night. My mom tried to hold onto me as she gave me the news in person at my job as a camp counselor at Geneva Hills. I ran right away from her, completely unable to share my grief with anyone. Completely unable to announce to the world just how much that boy had marked my soul.
I loved him as much as a seventeen year old girl could.
I always feel the urge, the pull towards his grave when I am here. Finn has been with me before but the last time he was only three. This time he asked all kinds of questions in the car and I tried to answer as honestly as I could. I cringed as I told him about the accident and how people are buried or cremated. I looked out the window and actually had a bit of a shudder go through my body. It doesn't get any easier to retell the story of a person that showed you their heart and then died. I venture to say it never will.