I don’t know you.
I know how we’re related,
But I didn’t know you existed until you died.
That sounds sad, and it is.
I’ve heard that you impacted many people,
But isn’t that what they always say at funerals?

You had an open casket.
There was a picture to compare.
In the picture you were full of life.
Sun kissed and full bodied.
In the casket you looked empty.
Pale and still.
I didn’t look long.
You looked so cold.
Your eyes were closed in the final sleep.
Your skin was so pale it almost matched the silk sheets.

I walked by.
I looked around.
I noticed how full of life everyone was.
Then I thought of you.
You’re in heaven now, full of life again.
But your body is here and it is empty.

You left her behind.
I know you didn’t want to.
She was so quiet.
She didn’t speak or cry.
She just sat beside your fiancé.
He cried, but your daughter was still as stone.
She looked pale, but not as pale as you.
I wanted to look at her and reassure her.
But how do you tell a 12 year old girl it will be okay?
When her mother is gone for good,
And she will never get another hug,
Another kiss,
Another touch,
From you.

I’m glad you’re with God.
It’s just hard to see those you loved suffer.
I have a hard time when I think about my loved ones dying.
I don’t know if I’ll be able to handle it.
I think I’d die of heartbreak.
I’m honestly blown away,
By how strong your daughter is.
She stood there and took everything.
Every look at your casket like a punch in the gut.
Every condolence and hug like kicks to the back.
Every moment of that day like a hopeless trek through the desert night.