On the right truck

So we carry on. One of the hardest things about grieving is the funhouse magnification of your own grief that one must endure as one cares for others. I am tired and upset about Casey's death, but the knowlege that my daughter is in similar pain and that Casey's husband is hurting still worse, amplifies my own hurt and sense of frustration. You find yourself running around in little circles because your body cries for action to drain away some of the angry energy and little circles is all you can think of at the time. Bleah.

My friend's husband was asked to arrange a viewing even though his and her preference was to avoid that sort of thing. Still, some folks needed it, which made me think of how strangely we individually deal with death. I freely admit that my family is funeral-adverse (and rather burial and gravestone adverse--genealogists hate us), so I don't fully understand the concept behind any funeral-like production. My personal hope is that everyone will spend a morning remembering me in the way that seems most appropriate to them. Which is why we will be bowling and drinking beer and eating macaroni and cheese directly from the pan this weekend.