Alright, missed a week, but I’m back.
She sat in the pew, crying, alone. None came to comfort her, and none came to see him. He was… had not been… loved. Or even liked. The best that could be said about him was that he had honor.
They had fought about that, some. Honor didn’t put food on the table.
For all of that, he had tried.
Even as he failed again, and even his family left; disowned him. Even as he turned hard – mean. Even as he pushed everyone away. Even as he drank himself to death.
She got up, tears dried, and went to the coffin. The pastor was talking to the undertaker. No one was near. A last look at his face – he was so peaceful now, and the red nose was gone, his yellow eyes closed. She was reminded of a saying, something she had heard:
“Faith is a knowledge within the heart, beyond the reach of proof.” – Khalil Gibran.
She had faith that he was in a better place, beyond all that had weighed him down. She had faith that she would see him again, the bright and wonderful man she married. All it would take was a little time.
Alright, that’s it, see you next week.