At My Husband’s Funeral, I Opened His Casket to Place a Flower — and Found a Crumpled Note Tucked Under His Hands

I sat on the floor, grabbed an empty notebook from my nightstand, and opened it to the first page.

If Susan could write lies and tuck them into my husband’s hands, I could write the truth and keep it with me.

So I started.

About Greg. About the rose. About the note.

About the cameras. About Luis, Peter, and Ben. About a woman who walked into a funeral and tried to bury a good man twice.

I don’t know what I’ll do with it yet.

But I know this: My marriage wasn’t a lie.

My husband was flawed and human and stubborn and sometimes annoying. But he was mine.

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