[EVIE]
The church is quiet, and warm. And it appears too big, too hollow. The air smells like old wood and faint incense, and the high ceilings make it all very odd. Very otherworldly, as if this place is capable of distorting time itself. The casket is at the front, closed, with a picture of him placed ahead.
I’m not sure how I feel. But I know I strangely feel a lot about this. Detached and connected all at the same time.
I never knew him, not really. He was just a name, a ghost of a man who walked away from Mom and Grammy. And yet, standing here in this church, staring at his picture, I wonder what kind of man he really was. What kind of father he could have been—if he had tried. But he didn’t. He left. And then, somehow, he did it all over again. A second chance at family, at love
