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October 10th, 2002

Back from Howlong

Well, I can honestly say that the funeral was one of the sadder and more surreal periods of time in my life. Grown men, as tough and hard as nails, weeping like babes. My mother refusing to return my embrace, standing rigid in my arms, only to go to her two sisters and cling to eachother as it the very wind threatened to drag them away. The tears in my grandfathers eyes glistening in the sun like is tiny, almost invisible masonic pin on his lapel. The Catholics intoning their prayers like cultists. My brother being a pall barer. The woman who I did not know and who I had never met who stood behind me when we were leaving the church and put her hand on my back for comfort, becaus I was crying so much and there was no one else who would do it. Mary's son faultering when he lead her coffin, because he finally saw her grave.

Good people, strong people in my family. My uncle did not waver in the eulegy for his wife, because he was brave.

I have decided that I don't like funerals.