Another funeral. Only this wasn't just another funeral. This funeral was for Abigail Morris, Medicine Woman of the Chumash People. Grandmother to Alexander Harris. Seer. Friend to many. A woman who had spent years helping people. And years fighting for their world. She'd never picked up a gun or a sword, but she had been a warrior.
To Alexander Harris and the Sunnydale Protectors Pack she was so much more. She'd been their guiding light. She'd set a course, all those years ago, in hopes of changing the future her visions showed. The horrifying loss of life. And she had changed things. More, perhaps, then even she would ever know.
Unlike when they'd buried Buffy, a girl newly arrived in Sunnydale, who'd only had time to make a few friends, Abigail had walked the earth for 65 years. She'd buried a husband and many friends herself in her long life. She'd buried her daughter, Jessica, in this same cemetery. She hadn't wanted Tony Harris' remains anywhere near her daughter.
Abigail's funeral was attended by hundreds of people. Most of the Tribe came. Rory Harris, who had admired the strong woman, Xander described as 'redefining stubborn.' came. An apt description indeed for a woman who'd set out to save the world.
Xander remembered the last time he'd been in this cemetery. He'd been ten. His parents were dead and he hadn't known what to feel about it. At times he'd hated them. Drunks, both of them. His father sometimes hit both of them. And his mother took it and he never understood why. Then his father crashed their car and they both died. And another drunk had taken Grandma from them all.
Unlike that day, ten years ago, Xander knew what to feel know. Grief and pain and hope. And fierce determination to protect his world. He laid his head on Cordelia's shoulder and together they cried. They mourned her death and celebrated her life.