In early springtime on a brisk New England morning, Sareena and I walked through a riverside cemetery here in Rhode Island. It was peaceful yet haunting and reflective.
I came to a grave that marked the resting place of a 20-year-old boy. He was the first from our town to die in World War I.
I thought about the emotions he felt and the connection we shared—calling the same place our home.
At that moment, Sareena took a photograph and captured a mist by the riverside.
Do not look for me in the grave—
I will not be there.
Breathe in the air—
I will be there.