I had a baby brother who only lived about 30 minutes before dying (lung issues). I remember going to the funeral and the cemetery was in our neighborhood, so I’d go visit him sometimes on the way to church (we walked) or when out riding my bike. As I got older, I’d go there and talk to him when something was bothering me – just to get it out.

Over 35 years have gone by now since that time and last year, I went looking for his grave – and couldn’t find it. Then I went online to search for it in the cemetery’s database. Not there. The rest of the world may have forgotten he ever existed, but I know he lives on my mother’s heart and in mine.