August 25, 1968
It was raining as the funeral procession drove down Jamaica Avenue in Brooklyn. Ten-year-old Angie sat next to her mother, looking out the window as the cars moved aside to let the hearse through, while her mother held her sleeping little sister on her lap. The look on her face was stone cold as she looked on to the funeral hearse carrying her beloved husband's dead body, in contrast to her weeping mother in law on her left. It was the day of his burial at the Cypress Hills Cemetary, where he would be buried next to his father. The pouring rain was very much appropriate for this occasion. Angie's mother hadn't cried all day, which was new for Angie. Her mother cried for several days. Whenever Angie would go to sleep at night after his father's death. She would hear the awful sounds of her mother's bitter cries echoing from the kitchen. Angie would cry too after it dawned on her that her father wouldn't be coming back.
On the day the news broke of his death, Angie was playing house with her little sister with dolls, while watching a rerun of "That Girl" on TV. It was raining that day as well. Two police officers came to the house, breaking the news that her father had been driving down Utica Avenue when a teenager slammed into her father's car and overturned it, due to the slick roads. The car was completely destroyed. And when the ambulance came, he was already dead. Upon knowing of his death, her mother collapsed to the ground in hysterical crying. Luckily, her best friend, whom Angie looked up to as an aunt, was there to catch her when she fell and console her. Angie's little sister didn't know what was going on, scared at the sight of her mother crying. Angie had to hug her tight, trying to be strong for both her mother and sister.
Days after his death, Angie's mother would go to the courthouse, leaving Angie and her little sister with her aunt. Whenever she would come home, she was always angry. But whenever she would see her two girls she would forget about everything, as her soul filled with peace. Angie was too young to understand what made her mother so mad.
They were at the burial site now, where her father was going to be buried. Her father was loved by everyone. He was a doctor, working at the neighborhood hospital. Angie could see the gloomy, tear-streaked faces of his friends, family, and former patients. One by one, they'd place a rose on her father's and acquaintances would shake her mother's hand and give Angie and her sister hugs and kind eyes. Best friends and relatives would give her mother hugs while shedding tears. Yet her mother wouldn't shed any tear. She stood there, not one emotion shown on her face.
His casket was now lowering to the ground, as Angie finally started to cry. She had enough of being strong now. Her grandmother held her in a consoling hug, telling her repeatedly that her father was in a better place. His casket finished lowering to the ground to the ground, while Angie stopped crying and calmed down. She looked at her mother, an angry look was now on her face. Angie looked at her mother in fright. She was afraid that today would change her mother forever, not in the nicest ways, and how this would affect her in the future. Angie wouldn't worry about this, she was still young. She wouldn't have to worry about it for the rest of her life. As everyone drove home, Angie still saw the angry look on her face. She didn't know what was the deal with her, but it was certain that she was forever changed by this occasion. Angie sadly looked out the window while on her journey home.
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