I suppose it is because I was at a funeral yesterday and I was thinking of death and funerals, when this came to me in the shower this morning. Real stream of consciousness writing.
“I don’t cry at funerals,” she said to herself. But she must have spoken it aloud as her son gently squeezed her shoulder in comfort.
It seemed that she had been to so many funerals. She had seen friends some buried and others taken off to the crematorium. Her young husband had died several years ago and though she had loved him, she didn’t cry even at his funeral.
But here she was watching the young men of the family lift her Grandmother’s casket and walk it out of the church. And here she was crying.
She thought of that wonderful old lady. She had been there for her since her mother had been taken…
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