“Why does it always rain during funerals?” Emily thought to herself as she walked out of the old weathered church. She put her arm further in the crook of her husband George’s elbow, as she gingerly made her way down the steps. They passed a group of people who all gave them their condolences. She whispered her thanks to each of them, but inside she was rather annoyed. “Everyone always apologizes,” she thought, “Why do they apologize to me?” Her annoyance quickly subsided when they found their car.

“Where is the cemetery again?” George asked her as he started the engine.

“The corner of 5th and Main. Kelly said to take this street all the way down and we’ll go right by it,” Emily replied. “ Why do people feel the need to apologize to me?” she asks, not really directly to George.

“They think you’ve lost your son,” he replies, his eyes never leaving the road.

“Well I did, but they should tell Kelly, she’s the one that lost a husband,” Emily states. George gave no response, but Emily didn’t really want one anyway. They rode in silence to the cemetery. Emily stared somberly out the window, an activity she found herself doing a lot since Dave died. She could never pinpoint why she did it, or maybe she didn’t care to find out. Lost in her train of thoughts, She didn’t realize they’d stopped until George was shaking her shoulder.

“We’re here,” he told her. Without looking at him, she unbuckled her seat belt and opened her door to get out. She looked down at her black skirt and noticed a small white stain on it. She took the red scarf off of her neck and tied it around her waist in an effort to hide the stain.

“Toothpaste from this morning,” she thought as she continued to fidget with the scarf, the piece of cloth not able to fully hide the stain from view. George came around the back of the car and she slipped her arm through his. Emily looked around and realized that many mourners had beat them to the site as the grave was surrounded by a sea of black. As they walked up, they were waved to seats near the widow, Kelly Charles, by the pastor. Emily was annoyed once again by the way they were being treated, but kept her thoughts to herself. She knew by now not to make a fuss; that whoever arranged the seating only meant well. The pastor started reciting a prayer as the coffin began its descent into the earth. Mrs. Charles let out a sob, which was quickly met by many consoling hands. Emily knew that no amount of well-meant pats or sympathetic shoulder caresses would quell the deep painful chasm Mrs. Charles undoubtedly felt in her heart. She knew that the pain would never go away, as she felt it’s all too familiar tug again as she stared at the mahogany wood slowly disappearing away from sight. She clutched George’s hand, and felt him return her squeeze, and thought about how lucky she was to have him in her life. Her mind once again drifted to Dave, her son. She remembered the goofy grin he got on his face when he was happy. She remembered the way he would put his face in his hands when he was upset, so not to show the world his tears. She remembered watching him put on his jacket and grab the car keys on his way out to meet his friends that night. He’d only been home for a week, and his best friend Kevin had just gotten in that night and insisted the group get together to catch up. She remembered Kevin’s face when she told him his best friend wasn’t coming back. She remembered, and she cried. Not just for herself; but she cried for Kevin, and Kelly Charles, and Dave. Emily looked up from her tears and caught the gaze of Mrs. Charles, who nodded at Emily upon meeting her gaze. Kelly then shut her eyes tight and kept them closed for the remainder of the service. George squeezed Emily’s hand again, jolting her from her thoughts once again. She smiled weakly at him.

“The service is over,” George whispered to her. Without saying a word, Emily gave him a soft kiss on his cheek. They got up from the folding chairs and made their way to their car again, wading through the sea of black all murmuring condolences to them. Emily didn’t respond this time, she only walked with her husband. Their Toyota Camry greeted them with a chirp as the doors unlocked, and George opened the door for his wife. Emily slid in and buckled her seatbelt. George came around the front of the car, and then sat down and started the engine. “I think it’s going to rain today,” he says putting the car into reverse.

“How fitting,” Emily replied, her eyes never leaving the window. George reaches across the console and takes her hand in his. They sit in the silence holding hands, each lost in thought. This time, her mind drifts to that fateful night in the hospital when her son’s doctor told her he wouldn’t wake up from the coma. She recalled this moment as the exact time she felt that deep painful chasm erupt in her chest, and in the eight years since that moment, she doesn’t think it’s closed one bit.