Numb
It should have been one of the saddest days of his life, and intellectually, David supposed it was. After all, what else could happen in a young man's life to bring him heavier grief than the day he buried his parents?
The typical, expected reaction would be to show his pain in some way, to make it apparent to others, to give them an invitation to provide comfort and sympathy towards him. It was the normal thing to do, the typical thing to do, and for David, who was of the Hamiltons the most concerned about them all showing themselves to be as conventional as they could manage, his lack of ability to do so in that setting was almost as disturbing as the circumstances of his being there at all. He had never been a skilled actor, as the twins often pointed out with sneering disdain, and for him to know that he was unable to give an appropriate performance of pain while standing no less than five feet away from his parents' coffins was a failure that struck him more deeply than the reality of their deaths.
He should be nearly doubled over, as his brother Francis was, eyes reddened with the tears he had shed frequently from the moment he heard the news, gasping for breath, unable to even look in the direction of the closed coffins without fresh tears coming to his eyes. He should be standing tall and rigid, as his brother Wendell was, his jaw clinched, every muscle taut with what looked like held back rage, but which for Wendell, might very well be his manner of expressing pain. He should be gripping someone's hand, as Wendell tightly held Darlene's, should be standing with his skin paler than usual in its hue, his lower lip caught between his teeth, silent tears emerging occasionally as he stared in the direction of the coffins, as was his sister Darlene.
Until today, he could not remember an occasion when he had ever seen Darlene genuinely cry, when she was not doing so in an attempt to manipulate or put on some sort of façade to trick others. He supposed he could hold out some vague hope that she was doing so then, that she too was not feeling anything in reality but was a better actress about it than he was. He knew that to be true, but somehow, David knew as well that she was not putting on an act.
This was their parents, still and silent before them. Their parents, who had held them together all these years, kept them safe and protected, from their own selves as well as from outsiders, those who would never be able to understand their family and its needs. Their parents, who had always accepted them, all of them, as the world never would, who had made David feel loved as he even now suspected no one else ever would, that somehow, everything would always work out where all of them would be okay. Their parents, who had made them family in a way that blood and words alone never could.
Their parents, whom none of them would ever see or speak to or touch again. And even as he knew and understood all of this, even as he repeated the knowledge of it all in his thoughts, David could feel nothing about the knowledge. The fading heat of the sun against his back, the pressure of his tie, slightly too tight, against his neck, the sound of Francis's faint gasps beside him, all of it seemed much more present, pressing, and triggering of reaction than the coffins and their contents.
Oh, he knew that within the next few moments, he would shake himself out of this inertia, that he would behave with an efficiency that might be necessary, if not instinctual. He would circle his arm around Francis's shoulders and guide him to a seat, hand him one of the handkerchiefs he had prudently packed for such an occasion, and had not had any need to use himself. He would touch his sister's shoulder and speak to her and Wendell, and would not show offense where she could see when she inevitably jerked back, when she or Wendell or both said something harsh in response, drawing nearer to each other to close him out. He would turn to the few other mourners in attendance and graciously shake hands and accept pats or embraces, speaking in appropriately subdued tones.
He would do all this, but through it all, no matter how desperately he tried to force himself, he knew he would feel nothing but an emptiness so heavy and hollow within him that it didn't even ache in the absence of emotion it had created.