There's this unspoken set of rules, particularly in the South, that says one must have decent duds to show up for a visitation or burial. In the minds of many it's "No suit or black dress, no show." Reminds me of all those folks who don't go to church because they don't have anything to wear. Hogwash. God doesn't give a flip what you've got on, and neither does the dearly beloved deceased. To some that suit and tie and pantyhose thing may be an element of respect. In my book, just my presence is paying my respects.

Let's visit the visitation, shall we? An already grieved family is forced to get up and at 'em when they least feel like it and more than likely are still in shock. The church ladies bring food and people share memories and there's 3 days paid leave to pack your sadness up and move on. Two of those days are spent making arrangements and showing up for lines out the wazoo to hear people say "I'm sorry" and "I remember when...."

I'm a big believer in being at the cemetary. Nothing much says the end of this earthly life more clearly than seeing that casket lowered or the ashes scattered from the mountaintop. I can cook pies and ham from here to eternity, yet I still might only be one more thank you note in addition to the flower people. I think I'll send a card or hang with the bereaved during the long months of grief ahead.

BabyGirl's boyfriend will bury his daddy tomorrow. He lost him years ago, but it's never easy to say that last goodbye.

I'll be meetin' him at the cemetary in my scrubs. And I imagine we'll talk about it some more in days to come and keep the faith.

^j^