Mary has been through a tragic ordeal. Yes, she was at the funeral, along with the other five-thousand souls he found in the forest. Her baby boy… he wasn't a baby anymore, but every mother's child is always thirty years younger.
She played her memories in a cinema. She made sure everyone heard his first words, and his last, in the perfect way she heard them. She made sure everyone saw his first steps, his last steps, and how both times, he ended up in her arms. Soccer tryouts and the lead role in the school play - in all of the school plays.
Her speech was clear, but space echoed in her eyes. She sure as hell didn't want to remember this day ever again.
I saw a void of feeling, an unconscious being wavering in the glow of a skylight. Her eyes gazed up to the sunlight, and shielded her eyes. A black hole that could show no one affection, and would never accept warmth again.
She walked off from the podium and back to the church pew. She sat next to me, and showed me no acknowledgement, no affection. She stewed in her self-sympathy, thinking of the drugs she could take or the wine she could pass off as comfort. But she didn't cry, losing her golden boy, she burned. She set fire to every memory she had of him, and fell to ashes in front of five thousand weeping souls.