[ 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 ]	I stood by my mom at my father’s funeral, held her hand as they lowered his grave into the ground, handed her tissues when the tears streamed down her face. But I didn’t cry. I didn’t show any emotion. I wasn’t there for him. I was there for her. I hung back afterwards, until after the mourners had left. Rob and I sat on a nearby headstone, passing a joint back and forth. When the last person in black garb left his grave, Rob and I approached it, our feet squishing down on the muddy grass. I knelt down, not caring about getting my pants dirty. “Daniel Goldman.” I read out loud before taking a long pull off the joint. I looked over at Rob, standing over me, giving me a sympathetic look. “How do you feel?” I didn’t reply. I just picked up a rock from the ground, stood up, and placed it on the grave. “What did you do that for?” “Tradition,” I said, “When you visit a grave, you put a stone on it, to show that you were there.” Rob nodded and watched me stomp the butt of the joint into the earth. “Reality Trip” was adapted to film, and Dana Kaye co-wrote the screenplay (2005)