The Funeral

Xander

I parked the rental car on the opposite side of the street from the funeral home. I got out and leaned against the driver’s side door. A steady stream of mourners made their way inside. I had spotted my dad’s car when I drove by the first time. He was one of the first to arrive. Technically, I was first but I never stopped the car. I had been circling the funeral home for an hour.

I couldn’t bring myself to go inside. It wasn’t like I would be viewing his body. There would be a big picture of him smiling.

No, that wasn’t right. My father would have chosen a photo of him in his uniform. His celebration of life would be more of a celebration of his military career, something I was not a part of. I didn’t understand a lot of it. I certainly didn’t share in the joy of being a military man.

A young woman wearing a very small black dress openly sobbed. I didn’t recognize her. Hell, I didn’t recognize most of the people making their way into the home. I didn’t feel like I belonged. I