The Porch Light

It began raining only minutes before they lowered my stepfather into the ground.

For some reason, I kept thinking Thomas would have found the timing amusing.

He had always been able to turn inconvenience into a joke. A leaking faucet became our “indoor fountain.” A broken-down car was simply “taking a personal day.”

That was Thomas.

Even on the worst days, he found a small patch of light.

So as rain soaked my black coat and my heels sank into the cemetery grass, I remembered his terrible jokes while watching his casket disappear beneath the earth.

And somehow, that made losing him hurt even more.

Michael stood beside me, clearing his throat. Mara hugged herself tightly. Noah stared ahead, jaw clenched.