I was looking through my closet tonight trying to decide what I’m going to wear to the funeral this weekend. l have a hard and fast rule that I only wear things to a funeral that I am willing to never wear again on the off-chance that it becomes “the dress/pants/sweater I wore to Emily’s funeral”.

Funerals make me sad, and that’s hard as part of my husband’s family.  They are quiet-solemn sad people.  I am a blubbering red-swollen-face sad person who blows her nose, a lot, and they tend to avoid me at funerals.  I do acknowledge that in this situation, my awkward fear of sobbing in front of them is nothing compared to their pain.  Emily was their matriarch:  mother of four, grandmother to seven, great-grandmother to my daughter and three others with three more great-grandchildren on the way.  Her 95 years on this planet were full of learning, creativity and love.