I am not conscious of emotion when I read the email.  And so it is a surprise when, in a few minutes I discover that I am crying.  I cry.  And then I go to sleep, listening to the same sleep mix that I've listened to for the last few days.  Josh Ritter, Iron and Wine, The Decemberists.  I start with the Jeff Buckley Hallelujah but it feels like setting a soundtrack and it is all too self-consciously maudlin so I switch to Girl in the War.

This morning I am waiting for the second email.

And I worry that I won't know what to do because I want so badly, for my father's sake, because it's too late for my grandmother's sake, I want to do this right.

I charged my phone, in case he calls.

I found her photo album of quilts.  I keep meaning to scan the photos so I can give the album back to my aunt.  I think I will scan it this afternoon.

I have a message to write back to an interesting boy.  I have a double birthday party tonight.  I will write to him, and I will go to the party, but I don't know what to say.  I don't want them to have to make room for Big Serious Sad Things.  But I have to say something, right?

How long does it take to arrange a funeral?  Can I afford to change my flight?  Will I need to?  What should I wear?

I feel like Anya, when Buffy's mom dies, which I think says something because Anya is a demon trying to learn in a year or two how to be human, and I've had 32 years and I still don't know.