Hug the one you’re with

Anders and I in Italy

It’s midnight and I can’t sleep, although I am bone tired.

Today I went to a funeral of a man too young to die.  The ball of hard hotness still sits in the top of my throat.  I can’t erase the image of Dan, in an open coffin, before his children ages 7 and 12.   And his wife of 16 years, whose choked sobs were the only sounds heard in the lonesome quiet between the readings from the Bible.

It makes no sense.

Many things in this life do not.


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