I was 23 years old. Grief clung to me like a second skin. Worse still, I was holding a newborn who needed more than my broken nature could offer. That's when Diane, Charles's mother, stepped in. She worked in the mayor's office and promised to "make things easier for me."
I didn't object. I didn't even ask questions.
I just nodded as the funeral service unfolded behind the closed casket. She insisted on a quick cremation. She was the one making the decisions. I stayed in bed, holding Susie, letting Diane smooth out the cracks in my world like wallpaper on rotting walls.
I never saw his body.
For complete preparation instructions, go to the next page or click the Open button (>). Don't forget to SHARE with your friends on Facebook.
