Marvin. Marvin!” Mama’s standing over me, trying to wake me up. My eyelids are low, but I blink them to focus. “It’s time to get up, baby. We got somewhere to be.” It’s Saturday and Mama’s talking about how she found the perfect place to scatter Tyler’s ashes.

I get out of bed, go pee, brush my teeth, and then change into some clean clothes—nothing too fancy. Something comfortable. It’s going to be pretty hot today, so I choose some shorts and a shirt.

In the kitchen, Mama is waiting on me while eating eggs. There’s a plate across from her with just toast with grape jelly, no eggs. She knows how much I hate them. I sit down and she starts going on and on about the Sterling Point Estuary, and how she thinks it’s the most peaceful place in all of Alabama to put him, about how Auntie Nicola thinks so, too.

I don’t even finish a whole piece of toast before she’s done eating.

She goes to get Tyler’s urn and the photo book she made. She pulls out a picture of the last family reunion we had. Tyler and I were three. Still babies, as Mama would say. She doesn’t even break down crying in front of me. She just holds it up to her heart. This is progress.

We pick up G-mo and Ivy from their places on our way to the Sterling Point Estuary, which is just a strait separating three different cities far away from Sterling Point, and it takes what feels like hours to get here. Faith meets up with us.

The sun is blazing hot, quails and pelicans greeting us in the sky as we walk to the edge of the riverbank, taking slow steps on a wooden strip. I’ve been tasked with carrying Tyler’s urn. I’ve never hated anything more than this feeling of carrying Tyler, I mean, his ashes, no, I mean, Tyler.

It’s him, but it’s not.

My head throbs. I don’t know if I can do this. Breathe in, I tell myself. Then out.

Everyone’s quiet, and all I can hear is nature—the birds, the water swishing around, the fish making bubbles in it. The sound of cars way back on the road is faint in the distance.

Ivy and G-mo take turns patting me on the back, reminding me that everything’s okay. I try to simmer my stomach and prepare myself for what might be the hardest thing I’ll ever have to do in my life.

Faith gets close to me. “How’re you feeling?” she asks. This question really could be answered in a bunch of different ways right now.

If I say I’m okay, I’d be lying to her and to myself. I sigh. “This just feels weird.” I spent last night reading all about scattering ashes. It’s supposed to be a big step in the grief journey. It doesn’t seem like it, though. At least, not yet.

“Just close your eyes, if it helps,” she says, popping her gum.

“I’m trying. It’s just seriously hard.” I’m staring at my reflection in the water now, Tyler clutched to my chest.

“God, my baby,” Mama says, wiping her eyes.

I exhale.

It feels like the world leaps forward without me.

“You got this, Marv,” Ivy says.

“Stay strong,” G-mo adds.

It’s nice to have them here. Sometimes it seems like I hold them back from being amid all the fun, like they are my own personal wallflowers with no perks. But it’s been reassuring to learn that we can be there for one another in all the ways we need, and we’ll be okay with it.

Pac said it best in his song “Until the End of Time.” He said, In the hood, true homies make you feel good. That’s something I need to remember.

Ivy and G-mo are true homies.

I walk down a little bit more to get closer to the edge. I kneel and run a hand through the water. It’s warm. And I know he’ll like it.

I wait for the wind to settle down, painful seconds slipping past. Then I twist off the lid of the urn, gasping and blinking back tears.

I nod at G-mo. Then Ivy. Then Faith. Then Mama.

Everything feels like it’s moving in slow motion. I take another breath and begin pouring the ashes into the water, watching them float and then sink and disperse.

“How are you feeling now?” Faith asks, her hand on my back.

“All right.” It’s a sad kind of all right, though. Tears are streaming down my face and the wind returns, carrying him farther and farther away. Almost instantly, it’s open season for tears. It’s an all-you-can-care-to-cry feast among us. I hug Faith, then G-mo, then Ivy, and then Mama. And then we are all hugging one another at the same time.

I look up at the sky after we break apart and see the sun moving out from behind a bunch of clouds. I don’t know where Tyler is, but I know he’ll always be a part of my present and my future. I can faintly hear his voice thanking me for letting him go.

I’ll never forget what happened. I’ll never forget that my twin was once here and then brutally taken out of my life, leaving behind an awful, sinking hole inside me, paining me empty. I’ll never forget our memories. One day, I’ll see him again. But until then, I just have to keep reminding everyone around me that his life matters.