He stood in the back of the small church, the mournful organ music not penetrating his wandering mind. It felt WRONG. Wrong to be here, but not able to make himself known. This had been his best friend, had held him as he died, but he could not say a word, nor participate in the procession, nor comfort the mother of the deceased. He had to remain in the back, obscured by shadow. Because his own funeral had been last week.