[ WP ] A character reads an obituary , and is forced to decide whether or not to attend the funeral .

Every morning, he gets up, makes a pot of coffee, and reads the paper. It ’ s been his routine for nearly 40 years, and at 79 years old, he ’ s not planning to change it now. He starts with the sports section, sadly noting that the Cardinals have lost once again. When he gets to the obituaries, he sighs. There are many disadvantages to aging, but the worst is watching his friends slowly fade from this life. A war veteran, Stanley Millhouse is no stranger to death, but it never gets any easier to find out that someone you care for has died. He fortifies himself with another sip of coffee before he begins to scan the names on the page. It ’ s been sixty years since he last saw Amelia Riley, and he almost misses her name completely. But there ’ s a picture. In black and white newsprint, not much bigger than his thumb, is a photograph of the woman he loved before he went off to war. He nearly forgets to breathe when the tiny letters inform him that the funeral service is tomorrow. His grandchildren are coming to visit him, like they do every Sunday. It ’ s part of their routine. Disrupting it for a funeral would be... illogical. But he hasn ’ t seen Amy in sixty years. He has to see her one last time. He knows it will be heartbreaking, to see his highschool sweetheart lying in a coffin. He ’ d written to her while he was in Vietnam. She never wrote back. After six months, he stopped mailing the letters. He spares a brief thought for the box up in his attic. What is he going to do with those letters now? He can ’ t go to the funeral, he tells himself. He wants to remember Amy the way she was, 19 years old, her red hair flying in all directions as they cruised to the beach in his convertible. The paper, that horrid newspaper, he wishes he ’ d never picked it up this morning. Wishes the delivery man had skipped his house. But it ’ s all there, her life ’ s story. Three children, it says. Two grandchildren. How can he intrude on their lives? On their grief? As he folds up the paper, he tells himself he ’ ll stay home. Have lunch with his grandkids. He puts his coffee cup in the sink, rinses out the coffee pot. Kyle was working on a big science project for school, and wanted his grandpa ’ s help. He shakes his head and reaches for the crossword. It ’ s just another funeral, he tells himself. It ’ s been six decades. He ’ s moved on. But his fingers shake in a way that has nothing to do with his age as he picks up the phone. He finds his granddaughter's number, presses call. He won ’ t be home tomorrow, he tells her. He has a funeral to go to.
