Calling hours

I started the morning with a bike ride. Work was closed today, so I took advantage of a quiet park and rode the lake like I like to. I didn't have anything else to do really. My wife was at the office doing taxes, and the kids were all at school.

That hasn't happened in a very long time.

I haven't seen my aunt Rose in at least ten years, probably more. I have a pair of cousins I haven't seen in at least three, maybe four years. Another that I haven't seen since he was 12, and now he's 21. The last time I stepped into that funeral home was for my Omi's funeral, back in 2002.

He outlived her by a good stretch, completely defying the norm.

I saw a handful of former coworkers that had left the company years ago. There were a lot of pictures on display, most of which I'd already seen throughout my life (I was even in a few of them), but my mother and her siblings managed to dig pretty deep and pull out quite a handful of photos that even I hadn't seen before. Granted, I could tell you where each one was taken and roughly when, but the novelty wasn't lost on me.

Open casket. He didn't look anything at all like himself. I wonder why they do that. Every time I see an open casket at a funeral, what's left doesn't look like the one that departed. Honestly it would have hit me a lot harder if it did.

It was cloudy and a little rainy. My wife took the kids home partway through the calling hours. There wasn't a funeral proper - they're saving that for the graveside service. Wasn't today. I might have been stuck walking home in the rain (in my suit), but my sister offered me a ride. I can appreciate the poetry in the moment, but at my age I'd rather not catch a chill. 

Or ruin my suit. Yikes, my Opa would have teased me for that.