The few joys of air travel...

So I'm back in San Francisco. That was...an experience. Most of the family was there, including some cousins that I haven't seen in over five years. The service went well, I suppose, and everyone commented on how peaceful grandpa looked.

First, as a visual, it wasn't like the movies or anything. We all went as a group to the funeral home, and there was grandpa laying in a large cardboard box, covered up to his neck in a blue plastic tarp. I was told he didn't spring for a casket, as he felt pretty much the same way I do- you're dead, so what does it matter?

It was all pretty surreal. He's laying there, looking like he's taking a nap. Everyone's quiet for awhile, and then someone starts a running commentary of our mortality, that this is where we all end up. There's some quiet agreements all around. People are starting to tear up.

Someone else says that he's in a better place now, with grandma. I don't roll my eyes, but I raise my eyebrows a bit.

And then people start loosening up, talking amongst themselves. People start telling funny stories about grandpa. Someone else goes on about all the paperwork they need to go through to get his money out of the bank.

Me, I just stood in corner, occasionally glancing over at the box, thinking about life and death and philosophy and all that crap. Reflecting, I suppose.

It was over pretty fast, and soon everyone starting piling out. I was the last one out of the room, the last person in the family to see him as a body before he was burned down to a few cubic centimeters of ash. I bid a final farewell and closed the door.

After that, I tried to spend as much time with my Mom and Sisters as I could before I flew out. And finally, after a few delays, I got back home around 130AM and slept in til' 6am before getting ready for work.