Elena’s funeral stretches on, agonizingly slow, every moment another jagged scrape against my heart. My mother crumbles under the weight of her grief, and I can do nothing but watch, hold her up, absorb the grief that threatens to consume her.
Since I stepped through that door, I haven’t been able to shed a single tear. Her sorrow eclipses mine, swallowing any space I might have had to mourn my sister. My mother needs me more than I need my own grief.
The service feels endless. The townspeople filter through, each one with something beautiful to say about Elena, her charity work, her quiet courage, the friendships she built in places I never thought to look. The mechanic at the end of town speaks of her like a saint, voice thick with emotion, and I hear the phrase “taken too soon” so man
