The funeral was intimate, just as Walter would have preferred. A few neighbors offered their silent condolences. Our daughter Ruth gently wiped her eyes, pretending no one noticed.

I nudged her lightly. “Careful, honey. You’ll ruin your makeup.”

She sniffed. “Sorry, Mom. Dad would make fun of me if he saw me.”

Across the aisle, my grandson Toby stood stiffly in his highly polished shoes, trying to look older than he really was.

“Grandma, are you okay?” he asked softly. “Do you need anything?”

I squeezed his hand. “I’ve endured worse,” I said, forcing a slight smile. “Your grandfather would have hated all this attention.”