The Logistics of Death

In this moment I'm lying in bed at our P-Town rental on West Vine Street editing my mom's death notice, debating format and font types for her urn with Kelly and my dad and putting together a short post for her blog, all of which feel odd to be doing, but admittedly it's pretty nice to be busy.

Bevan and I spent much of the morning and some of the afternoon making arrangements to get back to Muskegon for the funeral, which mostly involved booking, canceling and transferring tickets for various modes of transport, arguing with customer service reps and figuring out how to close up our rental house four days early. Also, since summer in Provincetown is pretty much Gay Disneyland, all we packed in our suitcases were sandals and short shorts and tank tops, so we're putting together a clothing list for our housemate so he can mail us our duds from San Francisco.

The Facebook messages and Timeline posts and texts and emails and voicemails continue to mount and while I feel so lucky to have so much love and support coming my way, I also feel kinda terrible about not having answered most of them yet. I know people understand, but it still feels rude AF.

The picture at the top of this post isn't very applicable to these words but I took it of B staring out at the Boston skyline during our 7:00am water taxi ride to catch the ferry to P-Town on Saturday morning, just a few short hours before I received that phone call from my dad. I've been wondering ever since if that'll be the default way that I categorize events now, before my mom died and after.