My eyes were red and swollen from crying. I hadn't sobbed during the funeral service; I had only released a steady stream of compassionate tears. Uncle Bill had lived a good life, a long one. He had left behind a legacy of children, grandchildren, brothers and sisters. He had escaped a future of battling brain cancer. Death is not often a good thing, but in this case, there was not much to darken the shadow.
Still, he was gone, and he left behind a hole. I cried silently for that hole.
Now at the interment, we stood in a long line, waiting to pay our respects to the family with a red rose in our hand for the casket. The family assembled in a row, all of them people whom I knew by name and had spent time with. I squinted in the sun to hide the redness in my eyes.
