I should have died that horrible night a year ago. I cannot understand why I survived when three other people didn’t. I lost my parents and someone else lost a father that night, but I walked away with scratches. Why me? Why did I survive? I can’t talk to anyone about this. They all say, How lucky I am to be here", but I’m not. I don’t have parents. No one understands. Walking through the cemetery today is one of the hardest things I have done so far. I don’t want to look at that cold marble with their names inscribed. I don’t want to think of them, lying there, rotting away.

Looking around at the different headstones, I can see which ones are newer; they are so shiny and solid. The older ones look worn, and some even have moss growing. Putting off the inevitable, I head towards some of the oldest graves. Here, the headstones are so worn, and the moss covers so much of them, you can barely read the names or dates. Over a hundred years old, they are crumbling back into the earth. No one remembers who these people are. No one comes back to look after them. Is this the way it is going to be in a hundred years when I am dead? Will anyone remember me or my parents?

This pilgrimage is hard. I have to force one foot in front of the other. I try to avoid the smallest graves. The plots, where the tiny little bodies, have been laid to rest. Even some of them are really old. I look away, because otherwise my heart may break before I can get to where I must go. It is so quiet here. I can just hear the muffled sounds of cars, in the distance. The birds barely make a noise. There isn’t even a breeze to move the trees. I want to get out of this dead place. I want to get as far away as I can. I must move forward though. I must complete my mission today.

Friends offered to come with me, but I didn’t want them to see me break. I don’t think I can cope with much more sympathy. They try to be understanding, but none of them can know what this feels like. I really am alone. There is no one who will ever be a close to me as my parents were. It should not have ended like this. I should not be putting flowers on their graves. If I ever have children, there will be no grandparents to spoil them. My parents are missing out on so much. I want them back. I want them by my side, once more.

My steps falter as I get close to my destination. That hole in the ground, I watched my parents coffins lowered into last year. The marble looks so shiny and new. The moss hasn’t taken hold here yet. I try not to cry at the sight of their names, etched into the headstone. I try to be strong, but my legs won’t support me any longer. I collapse at the foot of their graves. I am empty.