Write from the view of a child ( under age 12 ) en route to a funeral for a close relative or friend

I do n't know how 12yo's think. 
 
 -- -- -- 
 
 `` You ready, Daddy?'' I asked. I finished putting on my black shoes. It was hard for me to tie the strings because my hands were small. 
 
 I saw him turn around and looked at his suit. It was black like under his eyes. Daddy held my hand and patted my head. He usually has a booming voice that can get scary when he's mad, but today it's very quiet. I think he's sick. 
 
 `` No,'' he whispered. Yup. He definitely sounds sick. 
 
 `` You need more sleep, daddy! You look tired,'' I said to him. 
 
 I would know. I got sick once. I threw up so much. Daddy smiled a bit and let out a small laugh. I gave him a big smile. 
 
 `` Come on, Dad. We're going to be late.'' 
 
 I held his hands and we left the house. I walked him to the car and the driver drove us. I never let go. When we left the car, I could feel his hand tighten. 
 
 `` Relax, Daddy,'' I told him. He seems so sad. I could tell. He drank so many bottles last night. 
 
 I walked him past the gate and the people led us down a path. I saw Aunt Karen. She was dressed in a black dress. It was ugly. Everyone else dressed the same. Ugly black clothes. Eww. 
 
 I could see Daddy staring at me, his hands were shaking as we got closer to the wood box. I could n't see in it because I was too short, but I saw it in Daddy's eyes. He was still like a statue. He was trying not to cry. I tugged his pant leg and made him sit down in the chairs. He took a deep breath and sighed. He leaned to me and whispered. 
 
 `` I'm sorry, Cheryl.'' 
 
 `` It's okay, Daddy. Mommy was sick and it made her mean. It's not your fault.'' 
 
 `` I'll never let anyone hurt you again,'' he said. 
 
 `` I know, Daddy.'' 
 
 I hugged him. I tried to read the names on my cast. I raised my arm towards Daddy and asked him to read them to me. He knows how to read. 
 
 `` Not right now, honey.'' 
 
 I frowned and put my head on his lap. I think I touched where Mommy poked him with the scissors because he jumped a little and I heard him grunt a little. 
 
 `` Sorry, Daddy.'' 
 
 `` It's okay, honey.'' 
 
 I turned my head and looked up at him. 
 
 `` Daddy, will I always be a princess?'' 
 
 `` Yes, Cheryl. You'll always be my princess.'' The more I talk, the less sad he is. It was nice to see him like that. 
 
 `` But how can I be a princess with an eyepatch? Does n't it make me a pirate?'' I asked. He let out a small chuckle. 
 
 `` Who says you ca n't be a princess pirate?'' 
 
 It was quiet for a while, until I talked to him again. 
 
 `` Daddy, please do n't be sad. It makes me sad. Promise me you'll keep smiling?'' I said. 
 
 He looked at me for a while, then smiled. 
 
 `` Okay. Pinky promise.''
