---

**The worst day of my life was the day of the funeral. **

---

My husband, Tarry, was the best partner I ever had. The brunette boy had that cute cheeky grin. He sat on one knee like he knew what I'd say.

That's how it began.

If you want to know how it ended, it was a week ago. I was crying in my empty room to a dusty old photo of him. His soft, gentle lips and his fluffy hair between my fingers. Now what am I supposed to do?

I had no one by my side.

I could write a poem about it because that's the only way I can explain how I feel. Somewhere in an abstract world, the perfect words exist, I thought.

A day later, my pale, shaky hands felt the frills of my black dress. Since the car accident, my life has become less meaningful.

In the mirror, I twitched the creases of my mouth upwards and my smile was torn out of me. My makeup was even worth putting on. This a funeral for Christ's sake!

I sat and my hands rested on my solid cheeks until I got in my brother’s black SUV.

It wasn’t any better when we got there either. I was that one lady mourning the casket like a mad woman. To be fair, that was the last time I’d see him before he decomposed in the dirt.

I cried hard. I cried long.