How rude of the dead to die. How selfish. Wherever they are, no pain, in eternal darkness or wondrous afterlife. And here we are, tears streaming down our cheeks, the knotted stomach and clammy palms, a feeling akin to falling, in a dream that won’t end. I wouldn’t make the same mistake again, even though I wanted to reach out and touch his hand. “You can’t go yet,” I said. “I’m not ready.” I reached out and laid my hand over his.
