The day after

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The day's going well. I am having a glorious lunch. I'm on call. I'm expecting an e-mail. I couldn't attend A's funeral because I had to be at work today since I was in charge.

I didn't bring him flowers. I needed a moment before I went up to see him for the last time. It felt weird. I wasn't part of the family. Most people there were wondering: who's that girl? Why is she here? Then his grandnson came to talk to me and thank me. Many were wondering why it would matter that much to me anyway?

I saw his photo from when he got married some fifty something years ago. I saw people talking about what had happened to him. I saw them talking about their nice memories, how they thought he was ready and all the non-sense that people talk when they get together. People who were before just characters in A.'s stories became real. I became real to them.

He did live a long life, had two sons, grandsons, I guess he was "happy". I guess his "mission" was completed and he was ready. However, some people, including me, are going to miss him.

I find death sad, even if I am not afraid of dying and sometimes I think of dying. I find it sad. And for some selfish reason, I will miss him and his nice words.

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