Felt Like A Bullet To Her Heart

Woke up, stumbled out of bed, and got dressed in black pants, boots and the sweater he bought me. I brushed my teeth and hair and did my makeup half halfheartedly because it would be running down my face later anyway. We all left to go to my grandmom's, while there I drained a can of Pepsi because I'd need the caffeine today. I sat in the room full of people draped in black until the limo came. Then I jumped in the truck with my stepdad and little brother and made my way to the funeral home, he was exactly how we had left him last night; face stuffed with cotton, makeup everywhere, cold and hard. They made it look like he was smiling, but it wasn't his smile. The room seemed to grow smaller in the hour we all sat there, maybe 20 of us all together. We took turns going up in groups, holding his cold hands and each other's warm ones. Tears broke through everyone's blank masks, sobs ripped up the throats of the more emotional people. Everyone there held each other close while the priest spoke words of kindness before leaving to prepare for the mass we were holding at ten for anyone that happened to show up.
We all watched as they closed the casket; cue more tears and sobs, long hugs and gripped hands keeping us all connected to one another even when we were farther apart. My cousin, Patrick, and I grabbed a ton of tissues before we followed the casket out to the front where our marked cars sat, we climbed in and made our way to the church. Inside we were surrounded by statues of saints and mock-up scenery of a desert that Jesus walked through for forty days before being crucified. His casket stood in the middle of the aisle before the alter, a white sheet laid over it with golden crosses embroidered in it and a crucifix lying where his head was against the white pillow inside. I walked by to the altar to read from "The Prophet Isaiah" and again to go back to my seat to watch and listen to the rest of the mass. When the mass had ended I followed the casket back out of the church and watched as the funeral home director placed a flag over him.
We then went to the cemetery; the memorial for veterans, he fought in Korea. We sat there waiting for what seemed like hours and then followed a National Guard soldier to a small place with a white sheet overhead. We barely felt the cold wind bite at our faces as rifles rang out, every bullet piercing the heart of every one gathered there. We listened with hot tears making tracks down our faces as a soldier played Taps and a flag was presented to my grandmother. And then we left, leaving a little piece of ourselves there within a casket, within him.