I manage to keep it together through most of it.
The grief has been coming in waves these past few days. One moment I’m fine, functioning and putting one foot in front of the other. The next, I’m drowning in tears that stream down my face, chest aching from the loss.
I miss him so, so much. His booming laugh and gruff voice. The way he’d bring me snacks when I was a kid.
He wasn’t perfect. He said some awful things to me before he died. But he was family. He was a father figure after mine passed, and now he’s gone.
At the funeral, Moses and I don’t exchange words. We stand on opposite sides of the grave, separated by more than just distance. I don’t give a speech. I can’t bring myself to.
Every time I try to think of what I’d say, my throat closes up and the tears threaten to spill over.
So I stay silent and grieve in my own way.
When it’s over, Silver walks me back to his truck, his arm draped protectively around my shoulders.
“Where do you want to go, baby?” he asks.
I stare out the windshield for a moment, watching the other mourners disperse. Then I take a breath, my shoulders slumping.
“My house,” I say. “Can you drop me off there?”
Silver’s brow furrows with concern. “You sure? I can come in with you.”
I shake my head, managing a small smile. “It’s okay. I can handle it.”
He doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t argue. He leans over and presses a kiss to my forehead, lingering for a moment as if he’s trying to transfer some of his strength to me.
“Text me when you want to be picked up,” he says.
“I will.”
When we get there, I kiss him on the cheek, then climb out of the truck and watch him drive away. He goes slowly, glancing at me in the rearview mirror ’til he rounds the corner and disappears.
Then I turn and face the house, mentally preparing myself before I start down the front path. It’s the first time I’ve been back since Unc passed.
I let myself in with my key. The house is eerily silent and empty.
I should be used to this. Coming home to dark rooms and quiet hallways, with Uncle Eddie and Moses off doing club business and me left to fend for myself.
But it’s different this time. This silence isn’t temporary. Uncle Eddie will never walk through that door again. Never call out my name from the kitchen or fall asleep in his recliner watching old-school mafia movies (his favorite).
He’s gone.Reallygone.
I pad through the house slowly, almost as if I haven’t been here a thousand times before. I pass the living room, where the furniture is still arranged the same way it’s been since I was a kid. The kitchen, where Uncle Eddie used to burn pancakes sometimes on Sunday morning and blame it on the stove. The hallway lined with family photos—me and Moses as kids, our parents on their wedding day, Unc in his younger years with a full head of hair and a cocky grin.
I can almost hear the laughter. Their voices that used to fill this home. Uncle Eddie’s booming baritone mixing with my father’s raspier chuckle. The house used to be so full of life.
Now it’s just...empty.
I’m passing by Uncle Eddie’s room—the second to last door in the hallway—when I stop at the open door.
Moses is inside.
He’s sitting on the edge of Uncle Eddie’s bed, shoulders hunched, a photo album open in his lap. He looks up when I appear in the doorway, and for a few seconds we simply stare at each other.
“Hey, Lana,” he says finally, his voice low. “What’s up?”
It takes me a couple seconds to respond.
