Black coffin.

Black coats.

Black everything.

They were burying her. They were putting her into the ground.

A lot of people were crying that day, but there was one who refused to cry. The little eight year old was standing next to his dad, holding his hand.

He knew what was happening. His mother was dead and since he was eight, he knew what that meant. He knew that his mommy wasnt coming back. Ever.

He felt a squeeze and looked up. His dad was one of the many people who cried. He knew that he should be crying too, but he didnt want to cry. The little eight year old knew better: his mommy wouldnt want him to be sad.

Still, hes sad.

But hes not crying.

Maybe his mommy was looking down from the sky. Maybe she thought that he wasnt sad. That was what he wanted her to think.

The little eight year old didnt pay attention most of the time. He just wanted it to be over. He pretended to listen to that man (also in black) who was speaking, looked around and simply waited for the funeral to be over.

Luckily, he didnt have to wait long.

People were slowly walking away, but his dad was staying. So he was staying too.

"Daddy?"

"Shes gone, bud."

"Daddy?"

But his dad let go of his hand, turned around and also walked away. Dumbfounded, the little eight year old stayed behind.

"You comin?" he heard his dad.

He nodded and quickly whispered "Bye mommy" before running to his dad. His dad extended his hand and he took it. "Are we going home now, daddy?" he asked and his dad slowly nodded. He nodded too. "I want to go home," he confessed and followed his dad to the car.

"Then, well go home," his dad once again squeezed his hand, "Its okay. Everything will be okay, right?" The little eight year old just nodded. He didnt believe it, though. His mommy was gone and his daddy is telling him that it will all be okay? That wasnt right.

"Really?" he asked, just to be sure.

"I promise," his dad answered, "For you, I promise it will be okay. Dont you worry, Blaine."