Burrying Memories

In May of 1963, Amber’s father had been diagnosed with brain cancer. He had it for quit some time and curing from treatment at this time would be almost impossible. One year later Amber’s father had died. Over the next week, sadness had overshadowed her thought and her feelings. Her father was an admirable man, who did a lot for their community.
A month after her father had died, Amber’s mother had held her father’s funeral. Amber had wanted to go so badly, but her mother had said no. Amber had finally wheedled her mother into letting her go, after quit awhile of trying. Amber had never been to a funeral so she had no idea of what to suspect. There were, maybe, 100 or more people there. She was surprised to see all of those people. People were bringing festoons of flowers to place on the coffin. There was one that said father, from Amber’s older sister Amy. Everyone was crying as they said their last good byes. It seemed that everyone, especially Amber’s mother and grandparents, was dwelling in sorrow.
Amber looked to her right, and Amber could see her little brother playing with the moleskin bandage on his left knee. Amber’s sister had been asked to stand by the coffin to tell everyone about their father and gruffly said:

Hello. My father was a great man and a great father. He always put his children in front of himself. He gave us a knife when we were stuck in a jam. He had been a great citizen to his town and helped out on community projects. He was a great chef who knew how to make an excellent crumpet. My father was also a great husband. He had helped my mother as she worked on her paisley quilts.
This had gone on for six more minutes.

When it was Amber’s time to look at her father, she could only think of how eerie he looked. She began to cry as she prayed silently to herself. She could only think about how feeble her father was. At the age of thirty-five he had began to weaken physically and mentally. Her hopes of him surviving from this had been mangled by his death.

On the ride home, Amber’s little brother had remarked about being laden with so many new responsibilities about being the new man of the house. But her mother had told him it was an easy job and she knew he could do it.
One year later, Amber had become a poem writer. She had always known that
was to keep her from thinking about her father. She had stopped thinking about him twenty-four seven, and can begin to live a normal life.