if death was only the beginning--as the age old saying went--then why did he feel like his life was over? his beloved, his sweetheart, his one and only, his everything, lay quiet in the satin-lined shiny block of wood in front of him.
he sat motionless on the pew, trying to disappear from the flood of people funneling through the narrow double doors at the back of the chapel. his efforts were in vain. as people crept up the long aisle and stood in line to pay their respects to him and his beautiful wife, they'd pause at his side. some would gently rest their hand on his shoulder, linger, and then whisper sympathies; others would just stop for a moment or two. he knew each person meant well but he was tired and just wanted to be left alone.
the funeral was quiet. reverent. alas, it was still too noisy for him.
