Two days ago I buried my favorite uncle far too early, the victim of a stubborn lung cancer. I tend to think of myself as fairly unemotional until all the feels hit at about 3 am when I'm trying to churn out a post and wrecking my train of thought. My parents were telling me yesterday of how they had bought the plots next to my uncle--and aunt when the time comes--and  about their other "final plans" and all I can think of is how completely unprepared I am, and will be, when their time comes. I know for a fact that I'm going to be the one to have to handle all the arrangements. As much as I love my sisters neither one has, for lack of a better term, situational awareness. This means that I'm the one in charge and I know for certain I won't be able to handle it.

I think I'm getting ahead of myself. I've been worrying too much about things I have zero control over and I need to stop. Between the worry and the 90+ degree weather the nerve damage from my Shingles has flared up and as the popular vernacular goes, "ain't nobody got time for that."

I was writing a somewhat trite post on what to wear to a funeral. A sweet older lady told me during small talk at the viewing that people spend too much time worrying about the etiquette of what to wear to a funeral but nobody ever spoke of what to wear to move on. I think she has a very valid point but I'm not at there yet.

I apologize for this slightly rambling post. Come back tomorrow for a more cheerful post.