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When someone you really, really liked it dies exchange funeral from here on out.

Our friends called the other night. Our friend's father had died. I knew Will and his family since high school. We drift in and out of the lives of others a few years. My memories of her father are warm and the waves. It was nice to me. He had a good sense of humor. In their family, the father was the quietest.The rest, mother, son and daughter-told stories that stacked above the other and collided with punchlines unbelievable but believable because they were the kind of people to things like that crazy s' increased. The father, although capable of telling their own stories, seemed content to sit in the shade of their performance. He cast a sarcastic remark. I liked him.

I have not seen our will and his wife in person for two years? three? the phone call but denied that. News from someone other father can darken over time to a place where your own instinct was initiated,We were lucky. But we are now at an age when these types of calls that come to us more often.

He is distracted me this week. Concerned about their loss. Thinking about my loss. Walking through the blur of those days in my head. The long, long list of decisions to be made immediately. The decisions and choices and options that are all completely final. Irreversible.

The obit was well written. We assumed (and we were right) that had developed the words. It was not the standard obituary that was assembled on a questionnaire. It has style and heart. It was a pleasant reading.The things I knew were stratified into things that I did not.

Last night I went to the host city for the Visitation Will. My friends, Wally and Katie was offered a ride was a gift. (Time with them in all circumstances, is always a gift.) But especially when Robby and I were trying to understand how to manage access rights and four years. Our only option seems to be a beacon awkward arrangement of a team including parking....

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