I feel as though I’m holding my own funeral. Not for myself. Don’t get me wrong. But as though I’m burying everything that has to do with him. I’m holding a funeral for all of our dreams and the future that we had planned with each other. I’m holding a funeral for the hopes and dreams of his parents that have been buried.
It’s a funeral, where I toss everything into the hole that was dug up for the tomb. I’m dumping on dirt on it, as fast as I can.