Thursday, December 29, 2011


"Wake-up" I thought to myself as I looked at my uncle as he lay in his casket. He looked like he was sleeping. I had been standing there, playing nice with relatives I had never met and women with thick Jersey accents. Why on earth was this called a wake? Was it to wake up our emotions to shock us into the reality that he really was dead?were we hoping, deep down, that enough old friends and enough stories and enough brave faces would wake the dead? Or was it just because we were at the wake of death. The wake of letting go. It had nothing to do with thoughts and feelings and just had more to do with action.

I stood in 4 inch pumps for 10 hours as my dead uncle lay in a casket behind me. I couldn't stop wondering about things like if he was wearing pants. I was inspired a million times over by different women I met in the room. I felt like a child standing in the room. I felt lost and helpless. I awkwardly put my arms around my mum and I couldn't help but wonder when I will have to go through this with my own mother and my own father. Will I be strong enough?

I thought to myself, what a wonderful party. Why the hell is Bob dead for such a party?

This should happen before death, before Starwars.

I'm so tired, but I can't sleep. I can hear my cousin Susan walking around her house, she was trying to write something for the service. I hope she's OK. As OK as you can be when your dad dies on Christmas eve from a freak accident.

I should go to bed, I don't think this is making sense.

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