Post mortem

It's the wee hours of Sunday morning - I just got home from the airport. My flight was late, and then the luggage was delayed and I had to hang around the airport. So I should be in bed, but I'm irritated and need to wind down.

The memorial service was lovely and I think it was meaningful for all who were there. We filled up the small amphitheater in Madera Canyon, and the weather was perfect - cool and dry. A glowing gibbous moon (waxing) had risen and watched over us as we sprinkled a few ashes off the nearby bridge at the end of the service.

It went so well, not just the service, but the whole weekend. Everyone was civil and cooperative. It was so nice to get reqcquainted with Jerry's kids, who I haven't seen in years. It was especially great to hang with Ian, who I've always seen so fleetingly during our rare visits. And of course Diane was my consolation prize, literally and figuratively. She took such good care of me and it's just calming to spend time with her.

But overall, it still feels so wrong & so untrue - he can't be gone. Even as I held his ashes in my hand, I couldn't believe that was all that was left of him. The universe is just off-kilter, even now. Even walking in my front door and seeing the photos I mentioned in my short eulogy, I still can't shake the surreal sense that it's all been a weird, bad dream that I will scratch my head over, once I wake up.