After the Funeral

I stumble away from the graveside, with the support of my friend. We walk towards the gate in the churchyard, under a louring November sky. ‘I’ll never forget her,’ I say, my breath coming in starts. That raw rectangle of earth and the box we had just put in it didn’t seem to be real. She is still with me, regardless. Even death can’t stop her.
Typical. My breath comes in dry heaves, like the urge to be sick. My friend
watches, black-clothed and sympathetic. ‘I’ll sit down,’ I say, finding a
bench. The words come out fast. ‘There was nobody like her. Nobody. Never
again.’ My friend stays silent. I look up at the sky, the way the evening comes
on too soon, the remorseless tide of black chasing away the light. After the
time change at the end of October, the light really loses the will to live for
a while, a fading battle, retreating into December and the shortest day. It has
to be propped up by Christmas lights and other garish things I do not want to
think of today. I see two stars in a fading patch of blue, surrounded by the dark.
It is closing on them fast. I look up, engrossed in the drama. I blink, and
they are gone, then still there, all the brighter, against the dark. I remember
this day, when two stars sang together.