The air was still, even as fluffy white clouds drifted lazily overhead. The clouds, the bright sunshine, and the pleasantries of the countryside seemed to mock the overwhelming pain that struck again and again with each breath that he took. He was breathing, she was not. She lay before him, six feet under, not knowing nor caring how the day was mocking all of their sorrow. He clenched his fists at his sides and couldn't bring himself to comfort his younger brother, who sat crouched next to him with his head buried in his arms.
Those who attended the funeral slowly left. "Boys…you're welcome to come have dinner with us, if you like," a familiar voice said gently. Neither boy could respond. The old woman sighed. "Come on, kid. Let's go," she said, turning away from the freshly dug grave. Her granddaughter hesitated, but then followed her grandmother down the all too familiar path.
For hours he stood there, his golden eyes glaring at the new headstone, as if the granite itself was to blame for his pain. It wasn't until sunset that either of them spoke.
"Brother…I'm hungry…and I'm cold too. How are we going to do this?" the youngest choked. He turned to his brother, who was still glaring defiantly at the lily-adorned grave. "How are we gonna live without her?" The eldest didn't even blink as he said "We're not, Al. We're going to bring her back."
Al took in a sharp breath. His brother finally blinked. He looked at Al and said, "I don't know about you, but I'm cold and hungry. Let's go home."
Al got up, his legs stiff from crouching all day. He was about to wipe his nose on his sleeve when his brother caught his arm. "You're not supposed to do that, Al. Mom said so." Al was shocked. "Brother, Mom's not…" he broke off as his brother shook his head.
"No, she's not, but she will be. Okay? Let's go eat," he said, patting Al on the shoulder and handing him a handkerchief.
"Thanks, Ed" Al whispered after blowing his nose noisily. Ed turned his gaze to his brother's tear streaked face. Smiling wryly, he wiped away his brother's tears with his thumb.
"Come on, it's cold." Ed wiggled out of his suit jacket and draped it over Al's slumped shoulders. As the night closed in, Ed led his sniffling brother home. As for Ed, he would not cry, because he would not let her die.
The next morning, Ed got up early to pay the milkman. Then he put together a breakfast of bread, milk, and eggs and began to set the table.
He nearly set a third plate but stopped right before taking the unneeded plate from the cupboard. He closed his eyes, his hand still on the dish. Gritting his teeth, he fought it, the surging grief.
He couldn't cry. If he did, that would mean, at least to him, that she was gone forever. He opened his eyes and silently let go of the plate. It was going to be okay.
Ed breathed normally again, reminding himself that Al needed him to be strong, to hope, and to believe. Quietly, he finished setting the table.