The sky decided to cry today because everyone chose to grieve and lament in silence—or perhaps it's just my family and me who made that choice.
We bid farewell to my father, a final goodbye, one I'll never survive the memory of.
My siblings stood beneath their umbrellas while I chose to soak in the tears of the sky. After all, everything is for my father.
What's strangely amusing about funerals is how the place fills with people all at once, only for them to leave just as suddenly. They fill the emptiness for mere seconds, adorn the space with grand bouquets and words steeped in memories, then vanish. In the end, only love and heartbreak remain as your companions.
I bid farewell to the last family friend and stood gazing at the sky as their car disappeared into the horizon. Everything was gray and dismal. Even my little brother, who cried ceaselessly, seemed consumed by it. I think he didn't spend enough time with the family as we did, and that thought hurts deeply.
The four of us stood, staring at our father's grave—his photo, the dates of his birth and death. A few household helpers who cherished fond memories of him and were full of loyalty, the guards, and everyone who served him during his life—all stood with us. The rain embraced us, hiding our tears and our brokenness, for we were undeniably broken. A wolf pack scatters without its leader.
We weren't scattered, nor were we united. We were merely remnants of a great man's passing. Remnants that chose to grieve and say goodbye each in our own way. They say the dead take their secrets with them, leaving only their deeds and possessions behind. I believe my father departed, leaving us all the reasons to hold our heads high in pride. Rest in peace, Mr. Wang.
The four of us bowed and offered our final farewell and respects.