But the V is life and life, today, is all too much. There is only one person that could possibly offer him comfort. He punched her in the mouth, and then committed a crime he still doesn't understand. He has joined the orphans and been deserted by his sister. What if he feels it more? What if this drop enters his heart, and it begins to beat, and the blood that flows through him pulses with sadness? He tosses it out the window: be a man, be strong. Somebody has to be strong. We can't all go running off in the middle of a funeral, dancing across a graveyard, bitching about uncles and this and that. Somebody's got to feel this. Somebody has to miss her.
He is not a man. He is a boy, terrified and broken-hearted, and there is no one left to share his pain. He digs through the dirt and grass and garbage, under the truck and on the ground, desperate for his drug. He is completely gone. This is not an appropriate event.
The gravedigger winds the gears and the body slowly, quietly, gracefully descends into the cold ground. This is not all that we are. Adele's real body is back home, where it smells like her. Sam joins Sookie and watches the body descend. "I liked your speech. What I heard of it, anyway. She looks at him. Especially the part when you told the town to shut the fuck up." Sookie almost grins, staring at the coffin: "Yeah, I'm a real crowd-pleaser." Sam begs to take her home, and offers her elbow; she takes it. In the space they leave behind, the coffin comes to its rest.
On the porch, Sookie stops to dig out her keys; Sam tells her to take a bath and begs to stay with her, to watch movies with aliens, romantic comedies. To be of use, to be helpful, to keep watch, to bark when he gets nervous, to lick her hand until she smiles. "Sam, not now. I just... I need to be alone." He nods and she heads inside, thanking him. On the porch, he breathes the enormity. Tara walks up, shoes in hand, from the graveyard. Sam tells her Sookie wants to be alone; they agree they don't want to be alone. Nobody ever does. That's what death tells us.