He felt his father's hand. A squeeze. An arm around his body, offering strength. He blinked, but his vision didn't waver. Alex looked over at his father, then back down into the hole.
He should be crying. Sobbing. Clinging to his father, and they should be comforting each other. But he didn't feel like being comforted. The loss of his mother had left him empty inside.
People were moving and talking; he could hear the soft murmur of voices, the soft sounds of crying. He stepped away from his father and his sister, moving to touch the stone with his mother's name on it. A pair of dates. Alex knelt there, pressing a handprint into the loose earth, then curling his fingers around a handful.