There are nights that I dream about the funeral, about how bitter cold and wet it was, from the rain. I replay it all over again, about how unwilling I was to leave. About how unable I was to accept that he was already gone, and just his body remained. But I refused, absolutely refused, to think of him in the ground. As cold as it was, I just couldn't imagine him there. 

There are days that I wake up from those dreams, and I just cry. I never knew I was capable of so many…