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I never understood how people find solace at the cemetery. Until yesterday. I sat with them. I talked to them. There they laid. Side by side.

Coincidently he faces the track. I reflected on the eulogy so eloquently delivered by my cousin. “Dude, you were right. She’s the strongest person we know!” I said in a chuckle and tears streaming down my face. Kayla is the strongest person we know.

In the next breath, I asked God to give me strength like hers. Eulogizing your brother and best friend, you’re the strongest person I know.

Consistently checking in on his mother. Not sure if you’re ever okay after losing a child — especially in this manner. A text comes through, “I miss Tyrell,” and I’m speechless. It’s my job to comfort others in mourning but I didn’t know how to reply. “I’m sorry,” is not enough. “Everything happens for a reason,” is not what you want to hear. I looked at my phone and struggled to respond. Though I’m struggling, I must be strong for her.

I reminded her of the man she raised. The legacy he left. The lives he impacted. “He was extraordinary and he came from you,” I texted.

Now when I’m sad, I’m reminded of a conversation between brother and sister Kayla made us privy to — “we’re still living, so we have to live. We still love daddy but he’s gone and we have to keep living.” I’m still living. I miss him much…more than words can say but I’m still living. I think about how full the room was as we celebrated his life. I want to live my life poured out so when it’s my time, it can be said that I too made a difference.