There is nothing like a death to make you feel grateful for being alive. A friend’s brother was found dead. We attended the wake. They were Catholic, so they had a priest lead a prayer. Having been raised catholic, I instinctively knew all of the responses to the priest’s lead. You can tell that I have never
taken my boy to church because he kept pulling at my ear and saying, “Why are you SAYING that? Why does everyone keep talking?” I tried to explain that we were praying, but it was a completely foreign topic to him.
I jog around an old cemetery, it is beautiful with the Victorian headstones. Poets and war heroes are buried there. Going for a run there makes me feel alive and not in the ground.
I have a friend who advised me to think of my death every day. I told Jen that when I died, for my funeral, I wanted her to do whatever would make her feel better, but nothing that would put her in debt. Money is for the living. She suggested that we be cremated together. I thought it was a perfect idea.