Free association about funerals:
Tears are contagious.
When people die, I spend days processing other deaths in my life. And part of what I resent about being obligated to show up at a funeral (and in this case, sit at the fucking front of the church, where the cheap insensitive funeral people didn’t think to put Kleenex on each pew) is that my grief is on public display. And since I’m processing every dead person I’ve known, and every sappy commercial I’ve ever seen, and every sad TV show I’ve watched all week, my grief is usually inappropriate to the situation. As it was today.
I had to leave the service of course.
Why is it not approrpate for me to grieve privately, in my own way?
Anyway. It’s over. And I only had to say “yeah, I know! I might not make it! I feel huge, too! Yeah, place your bets!” and assorted other gracious responses to “you’re due WHEN? OH MY GOSH! YOU WON’T MAKE IT THAT LONG!” about 200 times. Today I even got the “wow, I’m surprised you don’t just topple right over!” which I haven’t yet heard.
Now I’m not leaving my house for the next 8 weeks, mmmkay?