My cousin's wife, the one with cancer, died yesterday. Her memorial is here.
As I've written about before, this whole situation was pretty heartbreaking for me. The idea of dying so young and knowing your children will have to grow up without you, watching your wife or mother die, the fact that her mother died of the same thing...it's just terrible. I'm driving to Baton Rouge tomorrow evening after work to attend the wake on Monday night and the funeral on Tuesday morning. I hate funerals. I hate the fact that I have to plan out what I'm going to wear (which feels disrespectful and distasteful in a sense, even though it's necessary). I hate the logistics of it. Something about making death neat and tidy and well-dressed and organized just strikes me as totally fucked. We come in screaming and bloody and we leave nicely dressed in a proper box.
But. I hope it serves well as a memorial to her life and grieving of her death; that it puts her family at peace. I hope her sons and her husband don't remember the face in the coffin, but the face of their beautiful and vibrant mother. I hope that her death doesn't destroy them, but inspires them to live their life in a wonderful way.