The funeral Without a name

"I was in a room full of dark clothes, knew it was a funeral but couldn't place whose, that not-knowing sitting heavy the whole time. people kept hugging me, murmuring things I couldn't quite catch. I kept meaning to walk up front, see who it was, but something always pulled me away first, a hand on my arm, someone calling from another part of the room. room shifted a little each time I looked away, chairs rearranging themselves. My mom was there, crying quiet into a tissue, and I went to hold her and it didn't quite land right, like I wasn't fully solid either. I never got close enough to the casket, dream kept steering around it. I ended up sitting outside after, in a car that wasn't running, watching people pass the window. still didn't know. that unfinished feeling stuck with me even after I woke up."