Personal Narrative: My Father's Funeral

I can remember my father’s funeral like it was yesterday, I could feel the sun on my face, not fitting weather for a funeral in my opinion. My father was killed, no one knows who killed him yet, but I am sure that they will catch them. My mother weaped like I have never heard her cry before, and I knew that she would never be the same, she held my baby sister in her arms as we all stood there together crying, trying to find some comfort in one another but not receiving the embrace that we all know that we want, our father. We stood there for a long time, by then my head ached from crying so hard, and I had run out of tears. My mother was reluctant to get up and leave my father's grave,
“Mom come on, we have to go home,” I said gently. She looked up at me still with tears in her eyes, her face pale with grief. The black dress she was wearing made her blonde hair stand out like a black cat in the snow.
I gently hug my mother and help her up, and we walk away tears still in my