I'm going soon to a memorial service for the father of a childhood friend. On Monday I was at the cemetary and saw his casket, the kiss of his wife pressed upon it, the final touch of his daughter's hand brushing its surface one last time because the desire to be close to a loved-one is still there, even when closeness becomes an impossibility.
I am reminded of how I don't like funerals, weddings, or religious services in general, because I don't like life being scripted. I'd much rather mourn for someone in a private, personal setting, not sandwiched into a time slot, not overlaid with palliative (and to me often empty) words; I'd rather see people married without any script they follow as if life were a play.
Yesterday I learned my dad's cancer has returned and so we fear the race between death from cancer vs. death from chemotherapy side effects will speed up soon. Therefore today I'm thinking more about the stage of life when one is living while dying, and I am feeling fear about my own loved-one having to face that.
Later today, though, I get to volunteer at an elementary school where I'll help kids with reading. That should be fun.
