You got your diploma with nobody clapping and you did it anyway.

You did the heavy lifting in the dark, alone, when you were still just a kid.

So now you’re going to let me carry some of it.

That’s what I came home for.

It’s my turn to stand next to you.”

I looked down at the dog tag hanging against my chest now, its worn metal gone warm from my skin, and I thought about the boy I had seen in the bathroom mirror that same morning — a boy who believed he was completely alone in the world, terrified of walking across a stage for a diploma no one would watch him take.

That boy had been so certain that when your people die, they take all the love with them, out of the world, for good.