At My Husband’s Funeral, I Opened His Casket to Place a Flower — and Found a Crumpled Note Tucked Under His Hands

Susan gave a blink. “What?”I was on camera when you did it. Don’t tell me lies.””Susan, who are the children?””I just wanted to say goodbye,” she said.Then, like everyone else, you could have done it. You concealed it beneath his hands. “Why?”

We had others listening around us. I sensed it.

Susan’s chin shook. “I didn’t mean for you to find it.”

I reached inside my purse and produced the note. “Who are the kids, Susan?”

I briefly believed she would pass out. She then nodded slightly.He wished for you not to witness them.”They belong to him,” she declared. “They’re Greg’s kids.”

There was a stir among those around. Someone let out a gasp.”You mean my husband has kids with you?” I inquired.

She took a swallow. “Two. A girl and a boy.” “You’re telling lies.”I’m not. He had no desire to harm you. I was warned not to bring them by him. He wanted you not to see them.

Suddenly, it was a group activity that embarrassed me.

It seemed like every phrase was directed directly at my ribs. I noticed that everyone was staring at us. coworkers, friends, and neighbors. Suddenly, it was a group activity that embarrassed me.

I was unable to stay. I was unable to yell in front of Greg’s coffin.

I therefore took the only action I could.

I turned and left.

Never would I read them.

The house seemed like someone else’s after the funeral.

He still had his shoes beside the entrance. On the counter was his mug. He left his glasses on the bedside table.

I gazed at the closet shelf while perched on the side of our bed.

A tidy row of eleven journals. Greg’s handwriting appears on the spines.”It helps me think,” he would remark.