Sixteen years ago, I went to my first funeral. I don't remember a lot of it.
I remember being so freaked out because I would have to see the coffin. And I knew it was going to do my head in.
I remember seeing it for the first time. It was so tiny, and sitting up all on it's lonesome on a table at the front of the church, and I felt like my knees were going to give out on me, but they didn't. Good knees.
I remember driving out to the cemetery, and the sun was shining. How could the sun be shining when the whole world, by rights, should have been dark and cold and empty?
I remember everyone coming back to my little house, and how nice it was not to have to be alone for a while.
I remember asking someones' husband to take photos. He looked at me funny, but he took them. Only a few -- but I have them. Which is lucky. Because most of the day would be lost to me otherwise.