I hate it.

Things are starting to sink in. I hate it.

The funeral home was awful. We had to go and make the final arrangements, which meant taking the suit, shoes, quilt and treasures with us.
Mom clung to the suit in the kitchen doorway at home. It's so hard, but we have to be strong for her, so we break down at home.
We sat at the funeral home trying to joke around, to make the situation better. We teased Dad about his taste in curtains and his fetish for opening closed doors. It helped some.
For the first time in 17 months, Mom put down her book, the book where she's kept a daily log of everything that's gone on, the funeral plans, the obituary notes, etc. She left it at the funeral home, and we went back for it. We set the times, and called the appropriate people from the parking lot.

We attempted to settle flowers, and thought that gargoyles would make a nice touch. It as something else that Dad loved. He always wanted two gargoyles or lions on the front porch to greet people.

My brother and I took Mom to lunch. It was awkward, no kids, no spouses, no Dad. It was quiet. In the middle of lunch, my brother got a call from a different funeral home telling him it was alright for them to pick-up his mother-in-law who had been cremated. She died on May 9th.
After lunch we drove to the cemetery. It's a quiet place out in the country but close to my mom. We saw a plot that had been outlined in rebar with flags. We denied it was Dad's and walked further in to see where he would be. Come to find out much later in the evening, the marked spot was Dad's.

At home, we picked out Mom's clothes, and found someone to cater lunch on Thursday after the funeral. I watched my brother's kids while they went to pick up the remains of his mother-in-law, and then went back to get and the subsequently drop off the check to the caterer.

Mike, Ché, and I went for dinner, then I to the grocery store to make Dad a gooseberry pie. It was his favorite. I couldn't find rhubarb for another. Baking kept me busy, and so I didn't have time to think, but after, I did. As I finalized the slides that will be running at the viewing.

I yelled at Mike, because he was doing stuff that I didn't think needed to be done. He didn't crop the pictures, even though he scanned them all, and he didn't closely watch the pie while I struggled downstairs, not wanting to leave until my job was done. I know he didn't deserve my yelling, but I was so angry at him for another stupid thing, that it was too much. Mike doesn't seem to understand that I don't have the patience now for little mistakes. I don't blame him, but I don't know what else to do.

I finished the slide show, picked music, and now have it timed correctly. It's 1:00am, and Ché will be up at 7:45am, and then so will I.

I'm not sure how I'm going to cope Wednesday and Thursday, Friday and Saturday. I know it will take time to heal, but I hate it now. Why does this all have to be so hard?