Page 171 of Becoming Us

The sky stretched overhead in muted blue, brushed with wisps of late-summer clouds, and the sun cast a soft, golden light that filtered through the tall fir trees lining the cemetery’s path. It was just starting to cool—the kind of shift in temperature that made the edges of your skin feel awake. A gentle breeze swept through the gardens, carrying with it the scent of freshly cut grass and the perfume of roses that clung to the old stone walls.

Gravel crunched beneath our shoes as Atty and I walked hand in hand, past row after row of headstones. The cemetery was quiet, reverent—not silent, but hushed in that sacred way some places are, like the air itself is holding its breath.

At the top of the hill, the city fell away behind us, replaced by a view that was still and intimate. In front of us stood his tombstone—simple, elegant, and impossibly final. I tightened my grip on Atty’s hand as the weight of it all settled between us.

A slab of polished black granite rose from a bed of white marble.Federico Rossiwas etched in serifed gold lettering. Beneath it, in careful script, read the words:Siempre con ustedes, incluso en el silencio.

This was the first time I had seen it.

For a second, I didn’t feel like myself. My soul had left my body and entered that of a kid—a scared, lonely kid, who had no idea how to deal with what was going on.

“I’ll wait by the tree,” Atty said, brushing a kiss over my cheek and giving my hand a quiet squeeze. I’d asked for this—for a little space to do it on my own.

I took the final few steps that brought me only a foot away from the stone, and paused.

When I used to think about cemeteries and burials, I always found them pointless. The person was gone—why visit what was left behind?

Turns out I was wrong about that. Like a lot of things.

There was a shift in energy here. Not something you could explain, but something you could feel. Like a portal between him and me. Soft but powerful. I could sense him—and not.

My fingers drifted toward my medallion, but I stopped myself, hesitating before reaching for the tomb instead, letting my hand rest on its cool surface.

“Bet you weren’t expecting me today.” I felt more than a little ridiculous talking to a slab of stone. I cleared my throat, rubbing at my nose with the back of my hand after a soft sniffle.

“Sam—my therapist—made me write a letter to you. I guess it’s mostly for me, since you’re dead and can’t actually listen to a word I’m saying. But, you know,” I said, stopping to swallow thickly, “maybe all this bullshit is real and the joke’s on me. Maybe youareactually listening from another plane of existence.”

I stared at the lettering for a moment, tracing the shape of his name with my eyes.

“It’s for closure, the letter. I didn’t go to your funeral, as you might or might not know. So we never got to do the whole goodbye thing.”

Unless that hug counted. Then I guess…maybe you did.

I rubbed a hand over my eyes again before reaching for my wallet and uncrumpling the piece of paper. “I’m sorry if it’s not the best piece of literature. It wasn’t exactly easy to write.” I cleared the knot from my throat again before looking down at the page.

“There’s a lot you taught me. Some of it came from a good place. Some of it…didn’t. But I want to thank you, either way,” I began, pausing to breathe deeply. “Thank you for teaching me about music. Our shared love of it meant more to me than you ever knew. And now, my life is starting to revolve around it. I’m so thankful you bet me I couldn’t do both—like Phil—because I proved you wrong. Big time.” A smile tugged at the corners of my lips.

“Thank you for taking the time to get to know me, and for pushing me to be a better person, to learn things I thought were past my capabilities.

“Thank you for teaching me to be independent.” My voice caught. “This isn’t one of the good ones, but I’m still grateful. It forced me to learn how to fend for myself, even if it took me a very fucking long time to figure it out.

“And thank you for teaching me how to defend myself,” I added, the words heavier. My eyes blurred again, and I blinked fast to clear them, swallowing around the ache in my throat. “I really wish this onewasone of the good ones. But I’m going to say this anyway—I forgive you. For not always believing me. For dismissing what was happening. I wished you would have fought for me, at least once. But I get that you wanted to see the goodin people, inher. And I’m trying to do that too. I’m trying really hard to not let the anger take over.”

I braced myself for the last part. Took one more breath.

“Thank you for showing me how easy it would be for me to fall into the worst version of myself. You loved pointing it out—just like her, just like everyone else—how similar we are. And it took me a long time to separate myself from that idea. That my inevitable end was to be like her. That I’d never be able to learn. That I’d eventually end up hurting everyone around me.”

I exhaled, my voice dropping to a whisper. “I won’t ever be like her. But Icouldbe. So thank you for showing me that. Even if it hurt like hell to hear you say it without realizing just how much it did.”

I cleared my throat, fighting back the emotions again. “Thank you for teaching me about regret and how to make amends. I’m also still working on that one, but I think I’m crushing it right now.”

My fingers held onto the paper a little tighter.

“And thank you for showing me that life is worth living. After you were gone, I spent so much time wishing I was right there with you. It took me a long time to find something—anything—to hold onto. But I think I finally found it. I found happiness. And I don’t think I would appreciate it the way I do if I didn’t know how deep the trenches can go. How dark it can get.”

I sniffled, brushing the tears from my cheeks with the back of my hand.

“So…thank you. For helping me see the good things. I’m not taking this gift for granted. Not ever again.”