Couldn’t, Wouldn’t, Shouldn’t.
“She was born to be free, let her run wild in her own way and you will never lose her.” – Nikki Rowe
Finally, my dad nodded to the undertaker who started the conveyor. “Annie?” he had asked. I just couldn't, wouldn't, shouldn't. Bloody typical, Sarah would’ve thought. “Brian?” Sarah’s father, again cervical cancer’s bitch, had also shaken his head; a stoic’s single tear staining his new cream shirt. My fingers locked with theirs. My face dissolved, a mascara mess. The white pine coffin, painted with rainbows and unicorns...