By the morning of the funeral, I felt emptied out. I had cried until my eyes burned and my face looked unfamiliar. The kind of grief that comes in waves had stopped feeling like waves. It felt like the ocean had moved into my chest and decided to stay.
When I arrived at the chapel, the viewing had already begun. Soft music floated through the room. People spoke in low voices. Friends and relatives approached carefully, touching my shoulder as if I might crack. Everyone meant well, but I could barely hear them. Their words landed somewhere far away.
And then I saw him.
