A middle-aged woman was crying by a coffin. Rea had a hand on her daughter's casket and another one over her heart. She had not brought herself to go and see Richard yet. The boy was the only thing that survived her daughter, and Rea couldn't bring herself to see him, in fear that he would open his eyes, and they would be Frank's and not Rebecca's.

There was a crowd around her. Most were people who she didn't even know, but Frank had invited because they were family friends. And that woman was there.

The strawberry-blonde young thing was dressed all in black, but her disposition was not grim as befit a funeral. Neither was Frank's and that made Rea bitter.

She had many poisonous words at the tip of her tongue.

What are you both doing, when she hadn't even been laid under the earth yet?

Have you shame?

I hope your happiness gets buried under sorrow!

But Rea had not lived her life in bitterness before. And Rebecca wouldn't have wanted for her to start now. Rea's daughter had often spoken of the woman who had usurped her.

Emily is kind, Rebecca would say over the phone. Sounding guilty for some reason. Why, Rea didn't know. Rebecca could have birthed Richard and kept him hidden from Frank. Rea would have helped her and, in time, Rebecca would have found someone to raise her son with.

But Rebecca had not been heartless in this regard, and she had walked back into her ex's life. Even when her place had been filled by the woman who was now standing in her spot next to her almost husband.

Emily is a friend; Rebecca had said once over tea. Not coffee because the doctors had told her that she needed to limit herself to only a morning cup, and only 200 grams, at that. She had a wistful smile on her face as she regaled her mother with the lessons in sewing and knitting that she was giving Emily.

Emily understands. That was Rebecca's counterargument when Rea berated her about inviting the woman into her home. Where the feelings between the two could rekindle.

Rea's red eyes, puffy from crying, found the two again. Did Emily understand? Was she going to use the things that Rebecca had taught her, sewing and knitting, to brighten Richard's days? To give him a piece of his real mother?

Rea's eyes found the coffin again. The priest was droning on about life and death and sending her worried glances. Rea ignored him. What did he know about life and death? Who has he lost?

Then, Rea gave out a sob and all eyes were on her. She bent her head down so that her hair could hide the look on her face. Rebecca deserved a better funeral. Years from now. With Rea, herself, gone and with Richard, all grown up and with children of his own, by the coffin.

A light breeze went through the room and ruffled Rebecca's hair. Rea straightened it back in place. It took a lot of bravery to come to terms with the loss of a child, an old woman that Rea didn't know had told her. Patricia, something.

Rea remembered that she had been the one to teach Rebecca how to sew animal onesies. Rea had never even seen them. And just like that, Rea felt shame.

Her daughter had worked hard for her son, and Rea had not even gone to see her work because she had never liked Frank. She had always thought him insensitive and never seen the glamour that surrounded him, despite knowing that he was a star athlete.

Now, Richard was all that Rea had left. Rebecca would be angry if she ever learns, up above, that her mother hadn't visited him. That she would have been against the waiting period in which her very dead daughter would have been denied a funeral just so her son was not premature.

And Frank had known Rea's mind inside and out. Had given the green light for a c-section and a premature birth. And now little Richard was so small he didn't even have the strength to drink milk. No, Frank had told her, even though Rea hadn't asked, that he needed a tube in his small mouth through which donated breast milk was pumped.

Richard was in an incubator. Isolated and monitored, with people fearing that he was going to die at any moment. Because he was small and fragile. And he was like that because his grandmother had not prioritized his health over her grief.

The guilt threatened to swallow Rea whole. It was not a feeling that was birthed from the death of her daughter, but from the condition of Richard.

"I am sorry, Becca," murmured Rea, and the priest stopped his babbling. Rea didn't continue to speak, and then he shook his head and continued on as if nothing had happened.

This was private, Rea knew. There would come a time when she would share her grief, but for now, she needed to be strong. Rebecca needed her to be there for Richard. To be a good grandmother who was there for as long as her bones allowed.

Rea placed a hand over Rebecca's crossed ones and made a silent vow.

I will visit him after the funeral. I will talk to him, even if he can't hear me. And I will make sure I spent time with the little ray of sunshine.

For some reason, Rea imagined a certain expression of peace overcome Rebecca's features. As if her daughter's soul had finally departed over to the other side.

Rea smiled brokenly and removed her hand and, despite herself, listened in to the words of the priest.

And those that leave us don't do it for long. Because we find our way to them. And, until then, they live on in our hearts and the memories of the people they have touched with their kindness.

Rebecca was a good daughter, mother and wife. If there is a Heaven, then she is surely watching us from there. Let us pray for her, for little Richard, and for the sadness of her passing to turn into a soft memory of all the times she touched our lives.

Rea closed her eyes and clasped her hands in a prayer. Her spirit a bit lighter.