A funeral home worker’s one sentence exposes the most heartbreaking truth about only children

My older cousin, who has worked at a funeral home for nearly 20 years, told me this story, and we were silent for a long time afterward.
Last Wednesday, a woman in her thirties came to the funeral home. Her eyes were swollen and red, and she came alone to handle her mother’s cremation arrangements.
My cousin asked her to fill in information about her immediate family. She gripped the pen, couldn’t put down a single word for a long time, and her voice was so light it trembled as she said, “I’m the only one. My dad passed away ten years ago.”
Halfway through filling out the form, her work phone rang out of the blue. She immediately ducked into the corridor, held back her sobs, and then reported to her supervisor, “Something came up at home. The materials will be sent tonight for sure. I’ll be at work on time the day after tomorrow.”
After she hung up, her shoulders kept shaking uncontrollably, but she forced herself to hold back her crying. She took a tissue and smoothed the wrinkled form, then quietly said she needed to finish quickly because she still had to go back to tidy her mother’s house in the evening.
When it came time to choose options for the farewell ceremony, she finally broke down.
“My mom told me not to do anything fake. But in this life, it’s only me as her daughter. When she passed, there wasn’t even a relative standing by her side—there wasn’t even a ceremony. She was so wronged.”
On the day of the ceremony, she stood straight holding her mother’s portrait. Her knuckles were clenched white, and she didn’t even dare to cry out loud.
After seeing off all the relatives, she turned back around holding the urn, lowered her head, and softly said, “Mom, we’re going home.”
My cousin said that in the past, when handling funerals, siblings would split up the work and lend each other a hand—no matter how hard it was, there was someone to rely on.
But now, more and more only children are doing everything by themselves: one person runs the paperwork, one person chooses the urn, and one person says goodbye to their loved ones. Even having a breakdown has to be timed. Even being sad, they don’t dare to fully express it.
When I was a child, I always thought that only children were the cherished gems who enjoyed all the pampering.
Only when I grew up did I realize that behind those four words is a life-and-death fate nobody shares, a homecoming nobody can rely on—carrying everything alone through chaos and confusion.
We don’t dare to get sick, we don’t dare to fall, we don’t dare to go far away, because behind us there’s no one at all.
The lives of this generation of only children have always been a solo journey.