Daffodils Grow For My Friend
There's no standard operating procedure for the death of a loved one. Sure there are the five steps, but Douglas cycled through those in the first hour, now settling on numbness. There was no process, no safety net, and no resolution. There was only the shock and the lingering, festering ache. The tragedy was over before it began but the struggle stayed. Just one stormy night and a winding road and they vanished. Douglas kept his mind empty as he prepared for the funeral. He straightened his tie and tucked a small, neatly folded eulogy in to his breast pocket. As he left the house he touched the frame of a picture, just the two of them visiting a flower garden.
He counted cars while he drove. He ignored the puddles from last night's rain. He passed over the first spring flowers blooming in the church yard. His eyes glazed over the faces of strangers filling inside. He stood just outside the door and kept his head down until a timid hand rested on his shoulder and a kindly old voice asked a favor, "Douglas, would you be alright filling in for one of the pall bearers? Only one of them couldn't make it, and I think he really would have appreciated it if you did." He gave her a solemn, comforting smile, "Of course, Wendy." He answered. He joined the other men waiting by the hearse. He greeted them with a slight nod as he took a handle on the casket as he thought to himself, "One last trip, Captain."