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The cold winter air pushes past, unaware of our thoughts and emotions, and the roaring in my ears drowns out the words of the priest as I look on... taking in every detail and taking note of each expression on every face without really meaning to.  The bitter wind numbs my face, my hands; apathy seems to numb the rest of me, and I wonder if I'll be punished, somehow.  But no one would ever know.

As each sob from around me penetrates the barrier that I always tend to hide behind, and enters my ears, I'm reminded that I should be feeling more than the frigid air, that I should be thinking of more than when this will all be over... that I knew this man, despite the fact that I never really knew him at all.  I knew his name, I knew that there were things that he cared about, that he mattered to those who knew him better than I, and that he cared enough to make an effort to care about people like me.

What do I give in return?

In the end, I find myself affected not by his absence, but by its impact on those around me.  I find myself holding back tears, as I look up and see his sons and daughters, and see them crying.  Perhaps it's because I'm only here as a courtesy to them.  Or perhaps, God forbid, I actually needed someone else to show me how I should feel.