Havent made the call yet

I know the last time I posted I promised to update once I had called the specialist, but I haven't done that yet. Poppa died last week(as most know) and I spent the week arranging babysitters and searching the mall for an uncomfortable black outfit to wear.

I am pretty new to the funeral "circuit" I guess you would say. I only attended my first one when Zach's mother died just a few years ago. I am still trying to get a grasp on this whole funeral thing at this point.

I hate funerals. Not that anyone enjoys them, but I suppose a significant number of people take great solace in their attendance. But not me, I hate them, I really do. I have never attended one that brought me an ounce of peace regarding death. I sit roughly 10 feet from the vacated vessels of what was once a loved family member, struggling with every breath not to leak snot and tears all over an expensive black outfit that I will surely only wear again when someone else dies.
First, I sat there and thought only about Granny, and how she had to get up that morning without her better half. After nearly 60 years of marriage how do you crawl out of bed knowing that the person your whole life has been built upon is no longer there? How do you face your own existence anymore? I just cant figure out how she does it. I have been married a mere 6 years and can't imagine not waking up to my husband everyday. If my husband passed away I am quite certain that I would need copious amounts of medication to coax me from my bed. Family members would have to approach my bed calmly and quietly with an outstretched handful of Xanex in the same way you feed the skittish goats at the petting zoo.
Growing up, my sister had these two guinea pigs. Disgusting rodents, but that's not my point. They were soul mates. They ate together, ran on their little wheel together, and dug in their cedar shavings together. A happy couple. But one day, one of the pigs reached the end of his road and died from some sort of natural causes. The other guinea pig, although healthy, up and died within a few days. We always agreed that thing died from a sheer broken heart- and I can see why. If I were married to Zach for 60 years, surely it would be easy to suddenly perish from "unidentifiable" causes within 48 hours.
Second, I couldn't help but sit and think about my own life- who I have/will impact, and whether or not I have the relationships I want with the people I want. And inevitably, I see the negative. I can only think- I need to be a better wife, a better mother, a better sister, a better whatever my relation is to you. I think about family members that I wish would come around more often, so that I may have the opportunity to miss them at the least. I mean, after all what if I up and died tomorrow??
No, no peace is gained for me at a funeral service. I develop paranoia that any one of my family members could drop dead at any moment and leave me all alone. I start picturing my own funeral and frankly don't like the the thought of everyone I have ever known looming over my body, saying "She was a good woman.", and that's presuming that is what they would say.
But then again, some good does come from spending an afternoon hearing and/or saying over and over "I am sorry for your loss." Sitting in such sadness can open a person's eyes to so many things.

"I walked a mile with Pleasure,
She chattered all the way;
But left me none the wiser
For all she had to say.
I walked a mile with Sorrow,
And ne'er a word said she;
But, oh, the things I learned from her
When sorrow walked with me"

So maybe that is the peace I gain from a funeral- a chance to reflect, pray, and find renewal within my own self and my relationships. A reminder that life is a gift and that it should be treated as such.

Anyway, if you made it through all that, I am sorry I just wasted a minute of your precious gift that you can't get back.LOL.
I am hoping to put in that call to Lucy's doc in the morning and I will update once I hear back!