Her fingers shook as she extended the mascara wand. Dammit, I have to be able to do this!

She stilled her body, "and one and two and three" chanting an eight count under her breath as if it were a mantra, she regained control of her limbs. I have to be able to do this.

She brushed the wand across her lashes. There! One step closer.

She fought not to blink. No, no, no.

She couldn't avoid seeing herself as she kept her eyes open. Who is she?

Unblinking. Who is she?

She didn't want to blacken her lids, it had required too much effort to make up her face, but she averted her eyes from the mirror. She was pale. Drawn. Gaunt looking. It wasn't a surprise. Who is she? Who is she!? Who IS SHE?

The surprise was how calm her outer shell appeared. Shattering, shattering inside!

He was dead. NO, no-no-no, no.

Her Richard had passed. No, please, no Richard!

No-no-no-no-no-no-no-NO-NO-NO DAMMIT! NO!

STOP!

You will not do this! You will not be this way! He said you were better than this!

He had prepared her of course. She wasn't the same panicked woman from his first angina attack, arguing about who was going to die first. No, everything was set. He had prepared everything including her. He had even talked her through this event. He had reminded her to be strong. To be there for young Garret. To be there for Lorelai and Rory. They had Luke and Jess of course, which would help.

But Richard had insisted they would need her. need her

She had her evening to mourn. Drinking a glass of his scotch, wrapped in his robe, rubbing his cigars through her fingers. His music on the player. She had let herself cry. Although crying didn't adequately portray the depths of the anguish. She physically hurt from the way her body shook with the tears. She had her evening to mourn, and she would have others, but not today. NOT TODAY.

Mascara dry, and lipstick applied, she dressed. Simple black dress, a black jacket, paired with low pumps. Opening the beautiful wooden jewelry box Rory and Jess had gifted them for their anniversary last year, she ran her fingers across the pieces Richard had given her over the years. Her favorites were in here, the chains she wore daily. Nothing looked quite right. It wasn't austere enough. Her heavy chains didn't have the weight this event required. She knew though, nothing in the safe was fitting. It was extravagant, diamond and jewel encrusted. The type of jewelry you wore at a gala charity event. Putting a hand at her neck, empty, her fingers fluttered across her skin, before reaching into the box and removing simple pearl earrings. There. Done.

Steeling herself, she wiped her hands on the towel, straightened it, and moved out the door.

Her family was down below, waiting, and she needed to be strong.

For Richard.