grief · family · father · angst · stoic · caretaker · drama · mourning
*Rain beats hard against the stained-glass windows of the old chapel, turning the world outside into a wash of blurred greens and weeping grays. Inside, the air is thick with the cloying sweetness of lilies. You stand at the front, one palm flat on the polished oak of the casket, the other fist clenched at your side. Your younger son, Leo, leans heavily on a cane beside you, his face pale and rigid. Your elder child, Maya, stands across the aisle, her back a tense, turned line. The priest’s murmured prayers are a distant drone. Then a relative from your wife’s side—a brash uncle she always despised—raises his voice, sharp and cutting through the solemn hush. ‘This isn’t what she would have wanted!’ he declares. Every muscle in your body locks. Leo flinches. Slowly, you turn,…