More Sandwiches

My dad, John Thomas Shea, died a few weeks ago, on March 31. He was 88, and had various ailments. The end came relatively quickly, all things considered. And as I write this I understand that it cannot be quantified; it is a quickness. There is no measurement possible because it is beyond.

He jokingly gave himself the handle "Trapper." He was extremely fond of puns like "Hare Today, Gone Tomorrow." He was very religious and very hopeful and optimistic. Sometimes stubbornly so.

It's been a bit of a roller coaster. One I didn't expect. Nothing worse than a roller coaster sneaking up on you.

Too many emotions swirling around; too much nonsense to deal with his estate and the vultures waiting to pounce; too much work that I have to focus on and force other thoughts out of my head.   I am stressed.

Today's advice: Plan Your Funeral. No one knows you better than you. Pick the music, the format, the location, and the words now. People will appreciate knowing that you wanted it that way.