Jeff's mind often found its way back to Shepard's memorial, making him wish for the millionth time that he could forget every single detail. His thoughts lingered on her parents, sitting in the front row of some folding chairs. Jeff remembered how they both had sat there in silence throughout the entire service until three N7 class infiltrators had stood up and saluted the empty box – Jeff refused to call it a coffin since the Alliance had never recovered a body – before each of them took a shot of whiskey and placed the bottle inside. Juliana's mother had loosened her hold on her husband's hand long enough to wipe a tear from her cheek and Shepard's father's lip had trembled as the solemn trio made their way towards them to pay their condolences.
Yet for all the speeches and all the moments, one thing stood out for him. No matter how hard he tried to forget, he could vividly remember how the dark blue of his SR-1 cap contrasted against stark white fabric lining. Other crewmembers and various dignitaries had donated flowers or mementos that had reminded them of the fallen Commander, but when it came time for him to add his contribution the hat had been his choice.
A part of him felt like he had died right alongside Shepard in the crash. It was only right that his hat, something that he rarely took off, something that was just as much a piece of himself as anything else, be buried along with her memory.