67. Gabrielle #2
He stops, looking back at me now. “And to Gabrielle…I don’t have the words for how much he loved you.
But I promise, you were his everything. He never stopped talking about you.
He never stopped looking at you like you were the best thing that ever happened to him.
Even before I met you, I knew who you were because of the years he spent talking about the girl he fell in love with as a kid and never stopped.
And if there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s that he at least left this world knowing he was loved back. That’s because of you.”
My chest tightens painfully, a sob caught in my throat.
Wes exhales shakily, gripping the podium tighter. “Cam, man…I miss you already. And I don’t know how the hell we’re supposed to do this without you. But I hope you know—you mattered. You mattered more than I ever knew how to say.”
His voice breaks, then he clears his throat and gives a small nod before stepping back down.
The silence stretches heavy across the room. Then, just as Wes finishes, someone unexpected stands.
A woman…with a little girl clutching her hand—Maya.
My breath catches as the little girl, no older than eight now, stands on a stool and grips the podium. She’s barely tall enough to see over the podium, so someone adjusts the mic for her, and she gives them a small, appreciative smile before turning to face the room.
She shifts on her feet, smoothing out the skirt of her dress before speaking. “Dr. Hayes was sick…just like me. He told me we would both get better soon, and even though he didn’t, I know he would be proud that I did. He told me one day I’d get to ring the bell just like he did when he was a kid.”
The room stills at that.
She glances at her mom, who gives her a reassuring nod, and she takes a deep breath before looking back at everyone. “Yesterday, I got to ring it.”
A quiet sob breaks through the crowd, everyone crying over this little girls words.
Maya’s lip wobbles, but she pushes through. “He always told me how brave I was. But I think he was brave too. He was the bravest person I knew. He was my favorite person.”
Her small fingers grip the edges of the podium a little tighter.
“Dr. Hayes told me that even when things get scary, I had to keep fighting. He said bad days don’t last forever.
That one day, I’d go home and be okay again.
” She sniffs, her voice growing more uneven. “And now I’m home. And I am okay.”
She stops, her brows knitting together, like she’s trying so hard to be strong.
“And I just wanted to say…thank you.” Her voice cracks, but she keeps going. “For making me believe I could get better. For being my friend when I was stuck in the hospital. For always playing Uno with me when I was sad. For making the worst days not feel so bad.”
She swallows hard, blinking up at the ceiling, trying to keep herself from crying.
Such maturity in such a little girl. One who had to grow up faster because of what she went through.
“I miss you, Dr. Hayes.”
By the time she steps away from the podium, the room is wrecked.
Her mother wipes her eyes, placing a gentle hand on her daughter’s shoulder as she guides her back to her seat.
The silence is thick, heavy with grief and love, and sorrow until the first sniffles start breaking through. Then, like a chain reaction, the entire room is crying.
I press my hand over my mouth, my shoulders shaking as silent tears stream down my cheeks.
Cam would have been so proud.
Are you proud, baby?
* * *
The drive to the cemetery feels unreal. Like it shouldn’t be happening. It’s getting too close to the last step in our goodbye.
The world outside the window moves in slow motion. Buildings and cars and life passing by as if today is just another ordinary day for everyone else.
But for me, it isn’t.
For me, the world has ended.
It ended ten days ago when Cam took his last breath.
I’m sitting in the back of the hearse, watching the casket in front of me, my fingers gripping my dress so tightly that my knuckles turn white.
The hum of the engine is distant, muffled by the storm inside my mind.
My mom sits beside me, her hand resting over mine, though I barely feel it.
I barely feel anything except the ache settling deeper into my bones.
The car slows as we pull into the cemetery, and I stare out at the rows of headstones stretching across the land. The sky is painted with streaks of orange and pink. It’s all too beautiful for a day like this.
It’s gotta be him, the one making it all so beautiful.
People are already waiting, standing near the burial site—extended family, old friends, doctors and nurses from the hospital, people who loved him, people whose lives he touched.
I don’t move at first. Because the second I step out of this car, the second I walk toward the grave…it will finally be real.
I will have to bury him.
I will have to leave him here.
Wes is the first to move. He turns, looking at me, his eyes filled with his own pain, and aithout a word, he steps out of the car, walking around to open my door. He doesn’t say anything as he offers his hand.
I take it, and together, we step out into the fading light.
The ceremony is small and intimate. People speak, their voices carrying across the quiet cemetery. They tell stories. They share memories. They say his name, smiling every time they think about him, and then crying when the reality hits all over again.
Cam’s mother goes next, and her voice wavers with grief. She talks about his childhood, of his contagious laughter, of the way he used to run through the yard barefoot, messy and full of life.
That part never changed.
A nurse from the hospital talks about the way he cared for his patients, how he made them feel safe, and how he gave them hope even in their darkest moments.
Wes stands beside me the entire time, silent, his hands curled into fists at his sides.
Then, they begin to lower the casket. The sound of it settling into the earth is quiet and deafening. A finality that cracks something open inside of me.
I take a step forward.
One step closer to goodbye.
My legs feel weak, unsteady, like they might give out beneath me. But I keep going. And when I reach the casket, I sink to my knees, my fingers trembling as I reach out and press my hand against the wood.
It’s cold.
Too cold.
He was always warm.
I swallow, my breath shuddering as I close my eyes. “Goodbye, my love,” I whisper.
And then I can’t help but break out loud. My body curls over the casket, sobs tearing through me, shaking me so much that I can barely hold myself up.
This pain is unbearable, and searing, like someone has reached inside of me and ripped something vital away.
Something I needed to keep living.
My heart, obviously.
I clutch at the casket, my tears soaking into the polished wood. “No,” I whisper, shaking my head, my fingers gripping onto it. Even when I know it’s time, I can’t make myself let go. “I’m not ready for you to really leave me.”
Wes moves to me, kneeling beside me, his hand on my back as his voice comes out gentle. “Gab…”
I shake my head, refusing. “I can’t—I can’t leave him here.”
Kinsley is next. She crouches beside me, wrapping her arms around my shoulders.
“I can’t do this,” I choke out.
Kinsley presses her forehead against mine as her own tears fall. “You just have to keep trying, Gab. You know that’s all he wants from you.”
I don’t know how long I stay there, curled against the casket, unwilling to move.
Then, one by one, people step forward. His mom. His dad. My mom. They place roses over the casket. Say their final goodbyes. Wes and Kinsley get up and do the same.
I stay until the last possible moment.
Until they tell me it’s time.
Until there is no choice but to stand.
Wes and Kinsley help me up, guiding me back a few steps. My legs feel like they don’t belong to me.
And then the casket begins to lower fully into the ground. With every inch it sinks, it takes more pieces of me away to be buried with him.
And then it’s gone.
He’s gone.
The earth swallows him whole, and all that’s left is the dirt beneath my feet, the flowers resting over fresh soil, and the unbearable silence of a world without him.
As people begin to leave, I stay, my feet rooted to the ground.
Kinsley and Wes stay with me, standing in quiet solidarity as I kneel one last time, pressing my palm to the fresh dirt.
“Wait for me,” I whisper.
And I swear I can feel him.
A sudden warmth. A peaceful presence. His love that refuses to fade.
For a moment, my grief and peace intertwine, wrapping around each other, neither one stronger than the other.
Because love like this doesn’t die.
Not even when the person does.