My father's funeral was in May. It was held outside, and my, oh my, was it beautiful out. A few people had gathered in the parking lot, a sea of black suits, ready to head to the grave site as a group. Aunts, uncles, grandparents; they waved at me. I ignored them.

Instead, my sister greeted me at the cemetary gates. It was still a few years before her funeral. We walked in together, reminisced about the good times with Father. We quit talking after a few minutes. There wasn't a lot to talk about.

 We got the grave site, and that's where I saw her. My Mother.

She was so beautiful then, so unlike the shriveled husk in the hospital room. She was losing weight though, even back then. There was talk of the C word, but nothing was for sure. It would be a few months yet. That's not what caught my eye, though.

She was wearing yellow.

I walked up to the casket, not quite ready to see his face. I had to, though. Had to make sure he was gone forever. I braced myself as I walked up to it, and looked down.

I knew he was dead. He had to be. But God, the mortician had done a good job. He just looked asleep. My heart raced as I put my hand on his shoulder. He was ready, under that disguise. Ready to reach his fists up, to punch me, to wring my neck. I began to sweat. I felt sick.

His eyes didn't open. He didn't wake up. He was dead. I felt better.

They wanted me to say something. I didn't want to, I had no idea what to say, but it was my duty as his son. My hands shook as I walked up to the podium. I never liked to speak in public.

"My father...loved us," I started. With his fists, I wanted to say. I can imagine the look on my grandmother's face if I said that. The shock, the confusion. I'td be beautiful. I didn't say it though. Causing a scene at your father's funeral, so untasteful. "We'll miss him very much." I looked up, saw my mother. She was smiling. She always knew when I was bullshitting.

I tried to say more, I really did. I couldnt though. I had nothing to say.

I left the podium then, went back to my seat. The radiance coming off of her yellow dress damn near blinded me. She handed me a glass of champagne. Champagne at a funeral, how classy. She turned to me.

"You know, Daniel, I never really-"

A horn blares at me, and I snap out of it. I'm stopped at a green light, and the guy behind me was pissed. I pull away from the light. I'm almost home.

I microwave dinner, feed my dog. Same old routine. I sleep for almost an hour before the dreams snap me awake again.

I don't bother with the cereal tonight. I already know it won't help.

Part 4 tomorrow.