Walking to a Funeral

Walking to a funeral,
The pavement passes beneath my feet.
I can hear my own heart beat,
Steady to the sound.

My head is bowed,
My eyes stare.
Is this real?
Is this really happening?

They always say that funerals are about missing,
Missing the person that is gone,
And that is why we cry.
Is it wrong that I feel no missing?

I know it is better this way,
For her, I mean.
Rather, I feel this ache for those she left behind.
Her son.

I grew up with him.
I mean, I spent most of my life around him,
Around her.
What is he feeling?

Is his heart broken?
Have his tears frozen behind his eyes?
Has the blood stopped cold?

We haven’t talked in years, but still,
I feel such a pain for him.

Is it possible?
Could I take this pain,
So that he would not have to feel it?

I have not given solace,
I have not expressed.
I regret it,
But I will not bring up the pain of the subject.

Maybe I could bear the burden,
And carry it instead?

Sam Utecht