How do you explain this moment. It's so quiet here. I don't remember the funeral home. Just the body. The way I wanted to stay looking for as long as I could. They dressed him in clothes he would never wear. His body was so hard.  So cold. He didn't look like he was sleeping.  Everyone always said that they look like they're sleeping,  but he didn't. He just looked dead. They had to pull me away from looking. At the end.  The funeral director was very professional.  Gentle and firm. It's time to go now. It's time.

Here. Now. It's the same quiet. I don't know why I thought it would be loud. It's time to go now. It's time.

I'm finding myself judging people for what they're wearing. I don't remember what I wore. I was so numb. Clothes were such a stupid thing.  Mattered so little in comparison.

I hear them all talking and laughing, sharing memories. Good thoughts.  Taking about the photos.  There was nothing like that then. A family who hated itself, hated each other. Just tears. My dad wanted to escape, I walked away from his offer. Everyone avoids the body,  hangs in the back, talks amongst themselves. I couldn't get enough. This was it, the last.