The Result Will Be Fiction

Today almost felt like a dream. I remember waking up, putting on my clothes, pulling out of the driveway and pulling into Bethesda Baptist Church. I remember quietly sitting, watching as mourners filed in wearing black and looking grim. I remember standing up to sing. From our tight vowel shapes to our body language, I could tell we were pushing it. We were trying our hardest to put on that celebratory demeanor that "Glory, Glory" so highly demands. I remember sitting down, hearing the momentary pause before the muted clap, and standing up again to move to a pew. I remember Clara holding my arm; I remember hearing a lot of crying and feeling my own face wet with tears. And I remember driving home.

To Katy: I hope beyond hope that somewhere in Heaven you were singing with us.