As you can imagine from working with Rory's Garden I hear so many tragic stories. Stories that stay with me for days after I read them. Incredibly sad and painful stories where I often wonder at the unfairness of it.
And this week I am going to a funeral.
I hate funerals, I really do.
I react in one of two ways. I either sob loudly throughout, or get hysterical and wildly inappropriate giggles where I have to literally stuff my mouth with a hanky to cover it.
Clearly I don't find the funeral funny. It's just how I react and it's awful. Now, not that I look forward to funerals anyway but it compounds my anxiety about going when I know that's what will happen.
Yesterday my husband's uncle died. He was barely 60, but I can truthfully say it was and is a merciful release for him. And I know he felt that way too.
Three years ago he became a paraplegic after a motor vehicle accident for which he was at fault. Two years ago his only son, my husband's only cousin in Australia was killed in a car accident. He had been married several times and with the exception of the care of my mother in law, his sister, his own mother and the kindness of various nurses and doctors he had become a recluse.
He longed for death.
And while I mourn the charming man I met fifteen years ago, I am glad he is at peace now.
I am so thankful for my friends on Twitter who comforted me while I anxiously waited to tell my husband the news once his plane landed.
I am glad I got to break the news to my husband and hug him close.
And as my husband mourns the loss of yet another family member in his own silent way I see the solace he gains from moments like this.