Let It Go

65.

He stared at his hands in his lap. They were pale and clammy. He wrung them together, trying to keep himself somewhat composed. He had lint on his black dress pants. He should have noticed that before he left for the church. Addie would have noticed it. She would have seen the little piece of white lint and attached it with a lint brush. That was Addie, that was the kind of thing she did.

He should have been looking up. He should have been looking at the minister residing over the service. But he couldn't. He couldn't look up. If he looked up, his eyes would fall on a mahogany box draped in red and white roses, on countless flower arrangements surrounding the box. They would fall on the large pictures of Addison Montgomery-Shepherd positioned on either side, one of her as Addison, one of her as Dr. Montgomery Shepherd. There were collages of smaller pictures too, pictures of Addison as a child and then a teenager, candids from her college years, snapshots of herself and Derek and their friends. He couldn't let his eyes fall on any of that. So he stared at his hands instead.

He was supposed to give a eulogy. As her husband, he was supposed to stand up and tell hundreds of people gathered in the church how much he loved Addison, how his life had been touched by her, how she had touched others, how she was a brillant doctor, a wonderful person.

But he couldn't. He couldn't stand up in the church they'd been married in ten years ago in front of many of the same people filling the pews today. He was fairly certain he couldn't physically get up if he tried. Guilt had turned his body to lead, paralyzed him even. He'd married Addison in that church. These same people had been dressed in bright, spring-like colors for their May wedding. Now it was a mass of somber black, the tears falling this time not tears of joy but tears of grief. He couldn't do it. He couldn't give a eulogy. Lost in the sea of guilt churning inside of him, he didn't hear the minister tell those in attendance that Addison's husband would like to say a few words.

"Der...," someone whispered. It was a female voice. A sister possible, maybe his mother. He felt a hand on his shoulder. That was Mark, maybe his father. "Derek, go up there," Mark's voice broke through. "Go say something. You need to." Derek shook his head. "Can't," he muttered. "Derek..." "I can't!" Derek snapped, his voice echoing through the church. He didn't see the minister lock eyes with Addison's mother who nodded for him to continue with the service.

Suddenly, they were outside. It was chilly, some would even call it cold. That was September in Green Bay though. The month started out a comfortable temperature and then it got colder each day as fall of the year approached. There might be snow as early as next month, definitely by November at the latest. Today was cold though. Today was abnormally cold for Green Bay's Septembers and the sky was partly sunny. Or partly cloudy. It was definitely partly cloudy which was the same as partly sunny in the scheme of things but partly cloudy fit the mood of the day better then partly sunny.

Derek shook his head slightly, making himself stare at the gaping hole in the ground. Pallbearers were carrying Addison's coffin towards them. They would be placing it on the lift soon. Derek inhaled sharply, the chilly air filling his body, him not feeling it, numb to everything and everyone. He watched as Mark, Addison's brothers, and a few friends carefully lowered the coffin onto the lift, momentairly hiding the gaping hole from his stare. He diverted his eyes now. He didn't want to stare at the coffin. He chose to stare at the grass that was beginning to turn brown instead. How appropriate, he thought, that the grass was dying in a cemetary. Just like the partly cloudy sky, it was fitting.

The minister starting talking again. People were crying. He hadn't cried yet. He'd come close but he hadn't cried. He'd shed a few tears after his father had pulled him off of Addison and forced him to stop trying to revive her but that had been it. He thought he might want to cry. Once in a while tears stung his eyes. But no tears had rolled down his cheeks as of yet. Even Mark had shed a few tears. What in the hell was with him that he couldn't shed a few tears?