The rain started the moment they lowered my husband’s coffin into the ground.
Not a gentle drizzle. A cold, relentless rain that soaked through black umbrellas and expensive coats, turning the cemetery into mud and silence.
People always say funerals feel unreal.
They’re wrong.
They feel too real.
Every sound cuts deeper. Every glance means something. Every word feels rehearsed.
…
👇 👇 👇 👇 👇
