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Jase
I stand stiffly.
My pain in my throat, my heart in my palms.
Not in a million years, or at least until my mom dies, did I ever imagine myself at another funeral. And without my wife again, no less.
Ace holds my one shoulder while Gene holds my other. I can’t cry. It’s like all the pain inside my chest is holding the tears hostage. And maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe that was meant to be.
Either way, it doesn’t make this any easier.