I didn’t mean to look. I swear it. 

I know I was never meant to see you.

I found myself in the cemetery a few days ago. I went to pay my respects to yet another loved one and in my haze of grief and disillusionment, I strayed into the children’s section.

And my eyes—

My eyes landed on your tombstone.

I’ve never been the same since then.

Yours wasn’t even in front or in the middle where anyone could have easily spotted it. Yours was at the far left and I’ve been left wondering how I noticed yours first.

I looked at the dirt around your grave, and I didn’t see any wilting flowers on top of it. It was completely bare.

Empty.

Like the world had moved on without you. It was at that moment I realized how tiny your grave was in comparison to the others.

And then it hit me.

“You were just a baby.” I whispered to myself. 

My voice cracked on the word baby and I felt a sob threaten to crawl out of my throat. I clamped a hand over my mouth, desperately trying to force the grief back down. I tried to silence my sob in an attempt not to stir the other children in their graves.

I stood there, terrified to even make the slightest sound. Scared to let out a whimper in fear that the other children would ask me why I was crying when I didn’t even know you.

 I looked around and I realized I was in the midst of stolen futures and children who would never get the chance to grow up.

With my eyes clouded with tears, I stepped back from the field because I was simply a trespasser in the land of the dead.

You were just a baby Chiagoziem.

Chiagoziem.

I didn’t think I had the courage to pen down your name, but it sure helped me breathe a bit easier since then. My gaze didn’t even linger too much but two seconds was enough to commit your name, date of birth, and death to memory.

I have something people call a retentive memory. You all say it like it’s an achievement but it becomes a prison sometimes. I can retain things from as far back as the first grade, and also remember the exact details of a tombstone.

I cannot close my eyes without seeing your grave.

It is etched into my heart.

And carved under my ribs.

I cannot help but think about how short the dashes between “date of birth” and “date of death” were. It wasn’t a lifetime. It wasn’t even a season. It was just a couple of months. Just enough for you to learn how to smile, but not enough to learn how to say your own name.

I was eating this morning and choked on my food because your tiny grave flashed in my mind. I was laughing at a funny TikTok video 30 minutes ago, and I immediately felt guilty for laughing. Guilty because somewhere in the world, you mother is staring at a wall motionless and your father cannot come out of the car because the silence in the house is deafening.

I felt so guilty for laughing because they weren’t.

How dare the world be funny when you’re gone?

I don’t believe in ghosts but I believe you followed me home. I feel you at the corners of my mind every second of the day. Perhaps you took me as a replacement for a certain person who didn’t attend your funeral. Perhaps you got tired of waiting, and since I was the one that stopped by, I’m the one that remembers you now.

I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to eat without choking on your name.

I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to close my eyes without seeing your grave. 

I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to think without my brain guessing how you ended up there.

But I’ll carry you, Chiagoziem.

For now.