Here's the revised version of He's Just Human, with a new title. There is one swear (mild) in this part.
Currently being edited.
Relative after relative walks up to me. They hug me until I can’t breath, they kiss me with their sticky lips, they cry in my hair. And I stand there and take it all, because that’s what I’m supposed to do.
Eyes have been on me all whole night.
I’m stuck somewhere in between, [dash] unfeeling, uncaring.
He’s too old to be doing that, but she likes to baby him, and he likes taking advantage of it.
He looks above the rows of heads to the open casket where his son lies, [no comma?] motionless.
But on his cheek, there’s the first tear I’ve ever seen [s]his[/s] him shed.
I don’t believe that my mother’s weak, [no comma] or that my father has cried.
I half-expect him to respond, but, [no comma] of course, he doesn’t.
His face is pale, and I know that, [no comma] if I touch his skin, it’ll be cold. He still looks like himself, though.
He doesn’t move, and I think tell myself that this is the hardest part.
It fits snugly, but it feels perfect there.
My legs shake beneath me, but my face [s]in[/s] is still.
Relative after relative walks up to me. They hug me until I can’t breath, they kiss me with their sticky lips, they cry in my hair. And I stand there and take it all, because that’s what I’m supposed to do.
They hug me until I can’t breath, they kiss me with their sticky lips, they cry in my hair.
Eyes have been on me all whole night
I don’t think I’ve ever been more envious of Matty in my life. Never before have I wanted to be like him. I’ve always been grateful to be past that age, to be respected, to have responsibilities.
Now there’s nothing I’d like to do more than to go back to that time. I want to crawl into my aunt’s lap and cry. I want to be able to believe that all parents are super-heroes again, and that no brothers lie.
The rest of my family and friends have left now. They’re piling into the cars, getting ready to go to the burial, but I asked to be alone for a minute. The casket is still open, and I walk up to it.
But I’m not Matty’s age. I’m fifteen.
It looks bare without the band, but I don’t think anyone will care where he’s going.
But I do it anyway.
but my face in still.
My mother has to go to another room she’s crying so hard, but people pretend not to notice.I think there should be a semi-colon (or at least a comma) after "room."
You can hear her sobs from here, and the priest’s voice breaks every once in a while when they become particularly loud.I don't like the second person here. Maybe try saying "I can hear..." or even "We can hear..."
My father’s in the back of the room, talking to the funeral parlor owner in hushed voices.This should either be "...he and the funeral parlor owner are talking in hushed voices." or "...talking to the funeral parlor owned in a hushed voice." You see? If it's two people who you describe as doing the talking, then you can say "voices" but if it's just one, then it should just be "voice."
But on his cheek, there’s the first tear I’ve ever seen his shed.*him.
I know that parents and brothers are just human, and that they have to break down sometime.*sometimes(?)
They have to cry, to break promises – it’s the thing that makes them real.Because you give two examples, you should say "...those are the things that make them real," I think.
His face is pale, and I know that, if I touch his skin, it’ll be cold.You can delete the comma after "that" and the one after "skin."
He doesn’t move, and I think tell myself that this is the hardest part.One or the other, not both.
My legs shake beneath me, but my face in still.*is.
I can’t forget it, but I can forgive him, and that’s enough.I think this should either be "I can't forget him, but I can forgive him..." or "I can't forget it, but I can forgive it..." just for repetition's sake.
I’m stuck somewhere in between, unfeeling, uncaring.
My mother has to go to another room she’s crying so hard, but people pretend not to notice.\
Her make-up has been smudged all night.
Nothing changes. His body doesn’t shake, he doesn’t frown, he doesn’t speak. But on his cheek, there’s the first tear I’ve ever seen his shed.
I know I’m supposed to fit in there somewhere. I’m supposed to break through this hard exterior and give up, let it all out, cry.
He doesn’t move, and I think tell myself that this is the hardest part.
But I do it anyway. My legs shake beneath me, but my face in still.
but I don’t think anyone will care where he’s going.
I thought finding his body – so close to death – was heart wrenching.