The coffin was the center of all, but little Joey focused on the shoes.

He did this as he crawled on all floors around the funeral home parlor. He just wanted to hide.

All the same black shoes, shiny like mirrors, except for Daddy’s shoes. Daddy’s were black too, but the shoelaces were undone. This is because he had hooks for hands from a war attack and couldn’t lace them without help.

Joey was only a toddler but he knew Daddy’s shoes and now he had crawled around so much he couldn’t find them. A sea of black shiny shoes all perfectly laced. Dotted with the black slip ons that the women wore. Mommy called them pumps. Or she did, once.

But Mommy wasn’t in the chairs. She was sick for a long time. And then she She went into the box at the front of the room and wasn’t coming out of it. That’s why Joey was on the floor. So he couldn’t see.

Soon, among all the indistinguishable black shoes, a pair approached, the laces hanging, untied. A pair of metal hooks slid gently around his waist and familiar forearms, real bone and flesh, picked him up.

“Time to say goodbye,” Daddy whispered in his ear and held him close.