My hands were cold on the harsh winter day. I gripped my black umbrella close to my chest with one hand, as my aunt held the other. I wore a black dress just above my knees with a petticoat covering it. I had black ankle boots as well, with no leggings. The snow started to fall even harder. I looked over at my aunt. Her face gained a few more wrinkles then it had the day before. Her body becoming frailer with each passing day. She looked down at me and smiled a small smile. I did the same. I followed the footsteps in front of me until we came to a stop. The man in front of me walked around the hole to the other side and set the picture on the stand. I took 3 steps more to the hole and looked in. There, I saw my mother and my father, in one clear casket, holding hands. My mother was wearing a white lace dress, and her mother’s diamond necklace. My father in a white tuxedo and his father’s silver watch. The priest started the service, telling everyone about how wonderful my parents were, even though everyone already knew that. As I peered into the hole, at my parent’s a warm, salty tear slipped. I ran away, trying not to sink into the deep snow. My aunt called after me, but ceased after one call. I ran up the steep hill, slipping and sliding as I went. I stopped at the top and looked down at the small gathering of friends and family at the funeral. I then looked up at the sky and let my umbrella fall back. The snow fell on my face and chilled the tears streaming into my black hair. I heard a slow trudge from a distance and soon a warm embrace from behind me.

“It’s okay.” He said. I turned around. I had never really talked to this 13 year old boy before, yet I let my 11 year old heart listen to him. I sniffled and wiped my tears. He opened his arms up.

“Let it all out.” He said and I ran into his arms, sobbing until the line between the dampness of the snow and from my tears was indefinite.

“Thank you, _______”