Don't Make Me Release The Flying Monkeys

The funeral is over. beowabbit and I got back to Boston on Wednesday evening. There is a great deal more to tell than I realistically can in one post, but I will say that there were lots and lots of tears, and lots and lots of love.

This funeral was especially heart-breaking because it was the first funeral I'd attended when a person in their prime had passed away without warning (69 was still prime for Don, as anyone who knew him will attest to). Both of my grandparents spent years in convalescence and they weren't still really themselves when they died. My father's death was a violent suicide, which comes with a very different set of grief responses. My step-father Warren had aggressive, non-treatable cancer and his passing ended his agony. Their funerals were all sad, but there was a certain logic to their deaths that was absent in Don's passing. In an ideal world, people shouldn't die until the time has come that it's the right thing to happen. This is not an ideal world.

Literally hundreds of people came to share their love. beowabbit and I cried together in our hotel room. But there were other moments in the trip when memories or a Don-like pun made us smile. The whole experience brought us closer, if such a thing is possible.

My thoughts are with silverlibre, the Wabbit-mama and one of the strongest and bravest people I've ever known.