1. THE FUNERAL

The weather today matches your mood. It's cloudy and grey, not really cold, but somewhat chilly, and it has been raining the whole morning. Just like the sorrow inside you. You have no idea how you are going to go through this day, actually, you really don't understand how you have been able to make it through the past few weeks without her.

Someone once told you that losing the person you have loved the most was the most horrible feeling in the world. You hadn't realised how true that statement was, until now. Especially since her death was so...unexpected. For twenty years you have been so absorbed in your happy-go-lucky-so-fucking-in-love bubble, in a haze induced by the love of your life, that now you feel like a little child again, afraid of everything new. Afraid of everything old. Just afraid. Of everything.

Currently you are wearing a simple yet elegant black dress. It's long sleeved, but it has a very low back cut, leaving most of your back exposed, and it ends right above your knees. You know it was her favourite. Your look is matched with black high heels, a black coat waiting for you by your foyer, with your hair flowing loosely over your shoulders, and you are currently applying some very natural looking makeup.

You seem very calm and collected, but your head is a turmoil. You are sad, and grateful, and depressed, and decided, and out of your mind, and... You don't know how to feel, you don't know what to think, and you don't seem to know how to make everything stop for just a second so you can remember her and be in peace. Then suddenly a voice drags you out of your reverie.

"Mommy...my feet hurt..." Sofia, your 4 year old daughter says. And when you turn to look at her you can see her face contorting in discomfort and pain. Quickly you get up from your vanity and move to kneel on the floor to be on the girl's eye level. With a quick once over, you easily find what her problem is.

"Baby, you put your shoes on your wrong feet." You almost whisper. You haven't been able to really talk out loud since the day you... since that day.

"...but, mommy, these are the only feet I have." You try your best, but you can't hold back a savage giggle that escapes your throat - it feels right and wrong at the same time -. Yeah, there's definitely Pierce blood in that little girl.

"Fair enough" you reply, hoisting the girl up and perching her upon your desk, so you can change her left shoe to the left foot, and the right shoe to the right foot.

After the small exchange with your daughter, you let her go, telling her you will be down in a minute, and you finish applying your makeup. You also add a touch of her favourite perfume.

After what feels like the longest car ride of your life, when in reality it took just about twenty minutes, you are walking silently across a perfectly mowed lawn. You are holding Sofia with your right hand, while your left has a death grip on Bruno's hand, your son. A young, handsome, 12 years old, boy. He is quite tall for his age, with slightly tanned skin, dirty sand blonde hair, and eyes so blue they could compete with a summer sky. On the contrary, Sofia has paler skin, her young body is already thin and has eyes and hair of a dark mocha colour, and, man, she does have an attitude. While Bruno is super laid back, and he is constantly in his own little dream land, Sofia is feisty, your little warrior.

You look at them as you walk and a faint smile crosses your lips for just a second. You take a moment to thank God for the amazing developments in genetics, gene combinations and in vitro fertilisation. How could two babies so amazing and gorgeous like yours come out of the combination of two eggs and the sperm of an anonymous donor is something that escapes your mind. But you are grateful nonetheless.

The service starts with a prayer and your world stops in that very moment. Some of your friends sing a song in her honour, and it's breathtaking. You feel your chest tightening, squeezing your ribs, and your lungs, but you have to play it cool. It's enough for you to be a grieving wife while you have to also be the perfect hostess for a funeral (how do you even do that?) and the perfect mother for your children. You are just too overwhelmed.

It's over before you realise it has even started. They lost you after the song, but apparently the priest has been talking for almost forty five minutes; then you are ushered outside, to the graveyard, for the burial. You have asked only your closest family and friends to be allowed to be by your side while the casket goes down. It has been closed the whole time because...well, it was better that way.

Suddenly, one of your friends starts singing 'If I die young' and the rest of the people surrounding you just follow suit. And dammit, that wasn't planned, and it was her favourite song, and it is exactly what you have somewhat planned to do with her, even if you can't physically just sink her in the river at dawn (nobody knows it, but she is indeed dressed in satin and laid over a bed of roses). But still, the song is burning under your skin, and you are starting to tremble on your spot, and the wold starts spinning again on full force. And it's time for your speech.

"She was the strongest woman I have ever known." Is all that you can sputter out of your mouth before you break down in front of everyone with an earth-shattering cry that you are sure can be heard from the next town.