Allegra
I hate funerals.
I remembered attending one when I was little, when my father led the proceedings and my mother comforted the grieving family. I wished I could be as calm and caring as either of my parents had been that day, but every time I was called on to say the farewell speech, I pictured my mother’s and then my father’s coffins and trying to think of something to comfort my grieving pack while I felt so utterly broken inside felt like an insurmountable task. What can anyone say to someone to make them feel less alone when part of their life has just been forcefully, permanently severed?
This was the first time I’d seen such a tiny coffin, though.
I stood at the lectern, countless pairs of eyes from the pack boring into me as I stared at the empty words on the paper laid
