“Oh, please God, would you leave me the fuck alone!” I snapped, my voice too loud.
Jackson backed off, frowning.
I reached out and touched the back of Papaw’s hand, which was cold.
The last time I had felt this miserable, I’d been in this same funeral home saying goodbye to my father when I was ten years old and so brokenhearted I had cried and carried on for days. Why I had carried on in that fashion was a mystery even to me; my daddy certainly didn’t deserve it. And no one else had carried on. Just me. I don’t know why I took it so hard or why it hurt so much.
Standing there now, my hand on Papaw’s cold hand, I thought about my daddy but quickly pushed the thought away.
I struggled to get hold of myself, aware people were looking.