The young man stood on the lawn, the wind whipping around his tall frame. The dark, grey clouds pelting their harsh rain down onto the young man clad in his finest black suit, slicking his hair to his scalp and soaking him, chilling him to the bone. The whole day was grey and dark. No colour or sunshine graced this dark place today.

Lima, Ohio was in mourning.

A heavy sigh wracked the tall man, his head bowed as the tears flowing down his handsome face mingled with the rain pelting him, until he couldn’t see, couldn’t feel. The cold numbed his fingers, clasped in front of him; his shoulders shook with the force of his tears. There was no justice, no truth, nothing made sense. This was Hell.

The other mourners had left, all of them filing down the road to the house he’d loved and called home for a few years as a younger, happier version of himself. He stood alone. Alone in his grief.

A young woman stood some distance behind the young man, watching him with sad, dark eyes, her long dark hair whipping around her and sticking to her face in parts; but her attention was focused on him. Slowly she opened her mouth, and started to sing.

‘Oh baby boy

You were just a child to me

A special creature

So beloved to me

To say your life

Was not an easy trail

Is to make

All understatements pale

You were beautiful to me

My love

All my energy

You were my own

My very truest friend

But now you’re gone

Your life is at an end

And I must learn

To be me again

I am changed

Another man but the same

I’ll live your love

Your life through me will stand

A testament

To the truest man’

Slowly she walked up to the tall man, her hand slipping into his and pressed her head against his shoulder, seeking comfort as much as giving it. Silently she pulled on his hand, drawing him away and to the other mourners.

He looked around the room. So many people had turned out for this, All clad in black, their faces tear-tracked and pale, they barely spoke but conversed in nods, hugs and well intentions pats that seemed to set off a fresh round of tears in both parties.

Someone had dispensed drinks and every person was drinking the cool, heady clear liquid as if they were fish getting their last glance at water before the world ended. Maybe it had.

At the centre of the room was a table with pictures, flowers and candles, each showing the various stages of growth, the life lived, now gone forever. Lived long enough to see their true desires lived, and then ended, three short years after their final graduation.

He’d wished himself and everyone else off the planet more than once since he’d received the news, he’d forgotten how to sing, how to dance, how to breathe, how to love. He was aware he existed, walking through life as a shadow. He could not remain.

As the night closed in and the people closest to him remained he shared with them his desires, to live life as the departed had wanted. He’d live the beautiful life stolen, and make them all proud. The people who loved him. The people who’d stood in classes, in halls, on stages and sung, danced and loved with him were now silent, making their own promises.

He left a changed man, walking away. He arrived in New York, walked around Los Angeles; spoke in Houston, felt in Philadelphia, learned in Phoenix, believed in Chicago. He showed the world the passion he’d felt drained out of the world on one cold night on a frozen roadside in Ohio. His heart burned for the places they’d never go, and the places feet had stepped in. He never returned.

His love walked with him, the woman shared his heart, breaking with each step with him. She grew alive; her eyes sparkled, knowing they had done what was right. They’d given what nothing else could, and gone where no-one else dared.

It took them five years to return. Standing on the lawn as so many years ago, the wind whipped around, shaking the man to his core and making the woman shudder. No rain poured, the tears had dried up. They spoke low, speaking of dreams and truth and love and death. Friends forgotten and remembered, dreams lived and tossed aside.

They’d lived their lives.

The young man and woman walked away, leaving words of love with the words of wisdom on the stone.

Leaving them behind for the last time.

Kurt Hummel-Anderson - May 27 1993 – December 18 2020  Aged 27

Blaine Anderson-Hummel – April 7 1994 – December 18 2020  Aged 26

Believe in me, I shall give you my word. Believe in my word, I shall give you me.

I’m never saying goodbye.