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.