There is something about gravesites that is not scary to me — just not something I would do. My father was buried in 2020. I have not been back. His wife was buried beside him in 2023. I have not been back for that either. I don't think I ever will. I don't know if that makes me a bad child. But they are not there. What was buried was just the remains of what they used to live in. The people themselves — their voices, their faces, the specific weight of who they were — live rent free in my head and in every family photograph I own. I don't need a plot of land to find them.
From The Editor
Some confessions are too whole to sit alongside others. This is one of them. If it found you, it probably found you for a reason.
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