I stood there at the graveside, the rain just soaking through my good coat, watching everyone else cry and genuinely feel it, and I just… felt nothing. Like I was watching a movie from the back row, you know? Like this whole funeral was just a play and I was an observer, and that’s a TERRIBLE thing to feel when it’s your own husband being lowered into the ground. I keep thinking about how I always said we'd take that trip, after I retired, after the house was paid off, and now it's just... gone. And the worst part is I don't even feel sad about it being gone, just a quiet sort of emptiness that feels really, really wrong.