Front row at a funeral

 Front row at a funeral 

 

You always want to be front row at a concert

But never front row at a funeral

 

And when everyone left and it was just me and my brother.

Holding each other's hands

Sobbing

As the curtains closed.

 

I didn't want to rush him

And he didn't want to rush me

So we sat.

Sniffles breaking the silence

We'd had this before with our mother

And now we had it with our father.

 

And the grief of both parents hit us at the same time.