Peace in a noisy place

I stopped by the memorial tonight after work.

We had Bryce cremated. That is what he wanted. He didn’t want to be “put in the ground”. He even knew that at 19. So we honored it. His dad and I split the bulk of the ashes…which sounds like a weird way to phrase it. Each of his siblings has a small portion. His best friend has a portion. His girlfriend has a portion. His niece has a portion. Each of us who loved him more than the world has a piece of him.

But the memorial site…I don’t know why, but it feels almost like a gravesite for me. When I go there, despite the noise of the busy road, it feels peaceful even though it is also heartbreaking every fucking time.

I sit there and stare at the post I made with his name and his date of birth and the date he was taken from us along with a photo. I stare at the candles. I stare at the stuffed bears. I stare at the photo of his smiling face.

Every time I drive away, it almost hurts. It feels as if I am leaving him behind, which I know is silly. And every time I drive over the spot where I know he laid for the very last time as his heart stopped, my stomach drops and a lump goes up my throat. I can’t avoid driving in that spot. I wish I could.

I don’t know if it is because I don’t have any other physical place to go since his ashes are in my living room…or if it is because that site is only feet away from where he took his last breath and where his heart beat for the last time. But when I sit there, I feel him with me. I feel him as if he is hugging me and telling me that he loves me too.