Chapter Summary: Chrysanthemums symbolize comfort and optimism.

*Second Person POV style

You look at yourself in the mirror, all dressed in black, wearing your grandmother's pearls she gave you as a teenager. As you smooth out invisible wrinkles in your dress, you tell yourself that you're as ready as your ever going to be, which is not. You're not ready. All the careful planning as she got older: making sure the burial plot was next to your father's, making sure her will was finalized, making sure the two of them talked about what she wanted (when she was able). And you're still not ready. You realize that you never will be.

Buck comes into view behind you, all soft cologne smells and freshly tailored suit. He looks good, damn good. You make the effort to force your brain to focus on that, him, as a distraction. It only lasts so long before your brain comes back to the inevitability of the day.

He stares into your eyes through the reflection. He offers a small, un-Buck-like, smile that doesn't reach his eyes. His arms come around you in comfort and support, cradling you and the little being that the two of you made together housed within you. He kisses the top your head and your eyes close. You're glad he's here, going through this alongside you. You're better for it.

Michael breaks your moment by telling you it's time. Though Buck's let you go the comfort he shrouded you in stays. You walk into the living room, greeted by faces of family you have seen in a long time. They look at you with mixtures of guilt, pity, and sadness.

You don't say anything as you all gather in your vehicles and head to the church. The ride was thankfully short. You exit the family limo and you begin to feel numb. The sun has barely risen, it's only mid morning, but this already feels like the longest day of your life.

As you look around you see people still arriving when your eyes settle on a pair that you didn't expect to see. Tommy. You wonder briefly why he would be here, given your history, but you don't dwell on it. It's not important right now.

You're arm in arm with your brothers as the three of you walk up the church steps, followed behind by the rest of your family. You stop at the entrance and Michael turns his head to check on you. You can feel Buck behind you doing the same thing. You look at anything else to distract from the casket directly in your view. You pick out the faces of Carla, Bobby, Chimney, Hen, Athena in the crowd of people already inside. You know they didn't have to be there, but they are anyway, and you appreciate it.

You enter as somber music plays. The walk down the aisle feels too short and too long. You reach your mother's casket, surrounded by her favorite flower, Chrysanthemums, seeing her inside. You planned this funeral, you've seen her in this dress, inside this casket, looking just like this, and, yet, this moment feels different somehow. Maybe it's because you are saying your last goodbye to her, you don't know. You don't dwell.

You sit on the front pew, your brothers sitting on one side of you and your aunt, Audrey, on the other, watching as the rest of your family pay their respects. Buck is still directly behind you in the next row. You turn to look at him briefly, he's searching your eyes making sure you're okay. You nod and turn back around, feeling his hand on your shoulder, always comforting.

You're doing well with this, you're fine, until the last person is seated, until the casket is closed. That's when all the strength and resolve you've built up shatters into a sea of vulnerability. You feel the tears sliding down you're cheeks, but you weren't quite aware of how hard you were taking it until you see your brother wiping your tears, hear your aunt telling you it's going to be okay, and feel Buck rubbing soothing circles into your back, whispering that he's got you.

You're allowed your moment as the service starts. You come to realization that this is first time you've really allowed yourself to do that. You feel better, in a way, not completely okay, but better.

The service is as beautiful as funeral services can be. The eulogy you and your brothers delivered went over well, you think. As you leave the church to head to the cemetery, it starts to rain. It's fitting as you think about how much your mother loved the rain. The service ends with words about your mother being at peace and you really hope she is. You touch the casket, close your eyes, and whisper you love her. Looking at your father's grave, you smile as you tell him to take good care of her.

You walk away before the casket is lowered into the ground. Immediate family and some friends return to your apartment after everything is said and done. The mood is lighter as everyone enjoys food prepared by your aunt and cousins and conversation. A family togetherness that hasn't been in a long time and probably won't be again until you all have to gather for this reason again. Some of your cousins try to corner you to offer apologies for, well, everything, but you don't let them. What's done is done, after all.

Then Tommy finds you, where he comes from, you aren't sure. You're still not sure why he's even here. He tries to say everything you wanted to hear three years ago, but you pay him absolutely no mind. You're too drained, emotionally and physically, to care about guilt-ridden consciences and half-assed apologies. Buck comes and rescues you, somehow hearing your silent pleas.

You entertain family and friends for a few more hours before it's down to just Matthew, Jared, Buck, and Carla. The four of you go through your mother's remaining things. You give Carla your mother's favorite earrings and you talk about her love for Ireland and her always wanting to take a trip. She suggests that you should go, but with you and Buck about to start a family, you don't think it's a good idea. The idea is stowed in the back of your mind, none the less.

It was another couple of hours before they left. The silence was deafening as you tidied the place up. Buck watches you, giving you space, but also staying near in case you need him. You love that.

You ponder what life is supposed to be like now that she's gone, what happens next moving forward. You pick up a small potted Chrysanthemum, sitting it on the counter, caressing the soft petals with your fingers.

As you do this you feel something in your belly, it's not exactly painful. It happens again. You're in awe as you clutch your stomach in realization of what's happening. Buck runs over to you, making sure that you're okay. That's when you put his hand to your belly, letting him feel. It takes a minutes but the little kick happens again and watch the shock turn to joy on his face. The two of you revel in the first happy moment you felt all week. You take this as a sign that everything's going to be okay.