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The morning of the funeral was gray and damp, the sky weeping the tears I couldn\u2019t. At the cemetery, a cold wind cut across the headstones. Friends and neighbors offered condolences, their eyes soft with pity. I searched the crowd instinctively, a foolish part of me hoping to see Rachel\u2019s blue SUV pull into the lot. It never came.<\/p>\n
Patricia, Linda\u2019s sister, approached me, her expression a mixture of grief and expectation. \u201cWhere is she?\u201d she whispered.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe had important commitments,\u201d I said, the lie tasting like ash.<\/p>\n
Patricia\u2019s eyes narrowed. \u201cWhat on earth could be more important than this?\u201d<\/p>\n
I couldn\u2019t answer. I turned toward the gleaming mahogany casket as the service began. The pastor spoke of eternal bonds, but all I could feel was the canyon-like absence to my left, where my daughter should have stood. I thought of how Linda had defended her, even when Rachel missed chemo appointments because \u201cthings came up.\u201d Linda\u2019s loyalty had been absolute, a shield her daughter now hid behind.<\/p>\n