Numb. That was how Reagan felt. She stood at the front of the room, between her mother and her father’s casket. The wake had only started thirty minutes ago, and she had four hours left. Her dad would be cremated in the morning with no funeral, so this was the final chance for his friends and family to say goodbye. The line of people paying their respects never seemed to end. She knew her father was loved, but if she had to hear, “I’m sorry for your loss” one more time, she might scream.

She understood what her role was today, and she had tried to prepare herself for it over the past few weeks, but this was the worst day of her life. Excuse me if I want to grieve alone. But she didn’t tell anyone that. Didn’t share those feelings with her mother either. Her mother had just lost her husband and best friend. Reagan would do anything to make sure her mom was okay. And if that meant putting on a brave face for every mourner, then so be it. She’d have her time to grieve.

An hour before the end of the wake, the funeral home director stood in front of the room. “Can I have everyone’s attention, please?” He waited a beat as people stopped their conversations and took their seats. “As many of you know, Conor was never very religious, so instead of a typical prayer service with a minister, he wanted part of the wake set aside for anyone to come up and say a few words if they so choose. The floor is yours.” He gestured to the front of the room and then stepped off to the side.

The first person to step up was Reagan’s Uncle Mike, her dad’s younger brother. He stopped at the casket, bowed his head for a beat and then faced the room. “Conor…Conor was a great older brother. And a typical one at that. If anyone messed with me, he dealt with it. But, if I ever stole his comic books, he would chase me around the house until I coughed them up. Mom never liked that too much.”

Reagan and her mom chuckled.

“Speaking of Mom, she always recruited Conor every St. Patrick’s Day to dye Dad’s hair in the middle of the night. You’d think he would’ve woken up from that each year, but he never did. Once he was out, he was out. Except if Conor or I tried sneaking into the house after curfew. You better believe he woke up for that. Of course, it was Conor that did that more than me. I was the good kid.”

“Yeah, right,” Reagan’s mom interjected.

He gasped and held his chest. “You know it’s the truth, Kathy.”

Her mom laughed and shook her head.