KoolAidKach

Mami touched my back, reminding me to kneel. The prayer lasted until the rain stopped pouring, the pallbearers standing by the casket, white gloves on white wood. The grass was wet at the cemetery. Papi told me he didn't want a Catholic funeral when he died. "It was right for him," he whispered as Abuelo descended with his red roses. Papi squeezed my shoulder, trying his best to cry like he had yesterday and the day before. I held the printed obituary. It promised, "He was born into eternity." Now the priest rambles about communication, how kids today don't bring situations to their parents, and tragedies like these could be prevented i