Thistle for protection. Rosemary for remembrance. Rose for purity. Honeysuckle for generosity. Iris for wisdom. Juniper for eternity. Daisy for innocence. Carnation for engagement.

I chose not to add forget-me-nots which also mean remembrance. Apparently a young man drowned while picking forget-me-nots for his lover. Forget-me-not were his last words and that's why they were so named…

I chose not to pick those flowers and add them to my bouquet because they made his death so true and me so selfish.

All he ever wanted to do was to make me happy… why did I refuse?

"We are gathered here today to commemorate…"

The floor had been cleaned before the funeral. It was shinny enough that I could almost see my face reflected back at myself. I could tell it was made of some type of wood but I hadn't paid attention enough in woodwork to understand what type it was.

"And now we are going to sing Amazing Grace"

All around me voices erupted into song, torturing me with the pain which was laced in their tone. They ruined it. None of the crowd were good singers and it was atrocious, the women were too high and the men were too low but when some tried to switch roles all that could be heard was a screechy sound.

He wouldn't like this.

"His mother, Amelia Kong, is now going to say a few words"

Amelia had hated me. Probably still does. She had been sure that I was going to take her son away from her so that's why she was always rude. However one day enough was enough and he left because of the way she treated me. So in the end it was her who made her son leave her, she had pushed him away.

He still loved his mother.

"Are you ok?"

This time it wasn't the priest who had spoken, it was my dad and he had placed a hand on my shoulder in a caring manner. Unwanted sympathy emanated from his touch however I knew it would upset him if I tore his hand off me.

Was I ok? No. Could I ever be ok? Probably not.

But I couldn't say this too him, I could tell my behaviour was upsetting him bad enough already. So instead I tried to flash a smile but it didn't come out right and by the look on his face it made matters worse.

His hand dropped off my back and he slumped in his seat before turning away from me. I counted the tears running down his cheeks, admiring each and every one of them. How could he cry when I couldn't?

He had always admired my dad.

I began to wriggle in my seat in an attempt to fight off the numbness that this position was causing. None of the seats were cushioned and the building was too cold for me to take my coat off and sit on it. I kept wriggling but none of the positions I wriggled into reduced the numbness. I wondered idly if the numbness was caused by uncomfortable seats or the heavy burden of loss.

The building became silent as the priest left and I wondered what was happening. I was too detached to realise that the ceremony was over and the burying was about to commence.

Everyone began moving, fighting to get to the door. After everyone was out there would be a fight to get closest to the gravestone and the priest, so they will be able to hear the priest's words over the roaring wind.

I wanted to be closest to the gravestone yet standing up was such a hard task. My dad had to help me stand then he wrapped his arm around me as support. Everyone followed the priest in a line through the foggy, muddy graveyard paired up with their loved ones and sobbing endless tears. Everyone except me.

If he was here he would be laughing, wondering why everyone was so distraught when it was only him who had died.

Amelia was stood with her seventh husband whom she had married recently, in a wedding her son hadn't been invited to. People kept walking up to her and hugging her telling her how sorry they were. No-one had come up to me. Perhaps I looked disrespectful dressed in a bright red dress whilst everyone else was in black.

He had always said I looked pretty in it, 'his favourite colour on his favourite girl.'

People threw soil onto the coffin whilst saying their last words. But I didn't move, even though my father probed me to. There was no point in saying anything, what is the likelihood he would hear?

The coffin was lowered into the ground, he was returned to the earth.

I had the only dry eyes in the place but I wasn't proud of this. People moved and started to leave but I stood still.

The truth was his death still hadn't hit me and I refused to believe he was gone. I always thought that if something happened to him I would feel it but I hadn't felt anything so how could he be… dead?

Exactly he couldn't be.

All through his funeral I had been trying to ignore the priest and focus on the smaller details because I wouldn't let myself focus on the huge possibility that he'd left me. He wouldn't, he'd promised me that he wouldn't.

That was why I wouldn't cry and I refused to wear black. This wasn't a mourning session it was a simple mistake. An easy mistake which happens plenty of times… Right? Please tell me I'm right… This can't be happening.