There was a street fair surrounding the funeral home when we arrived yesterday. All the side streets were closed for blocks, and on Main Street, police officers in neon-orange vests stopped traffic for any pedestrians who wanted to cross. The staff at the funeral home were keeping a watchful eye for people who were trying to find festival parking in their lot, but noting our black clothes and out of state plates, they didn't even look twice at us when we pulled in.
The viewing ended at twelve but the service was not scheduled until 1. The church was only a few blocks away, and so we decided to walk. Our path took us through the fair, and we stopped for coffee, browsed t-shirts at a sidewalk sale, and played with the kittens they had for adoption at the pet shop. It was a warm reminder that life, somehow, goes on no matter what.
"I think Tom did this," his sister told us before we left the wake. "The fair was rescheduled from a couple weeks ago from the hurricane that never came. Now we're going to lose half the crowd to the beer tent!"
The viewing ended at twelve but the service was not scheduled until 1. The church was only a few blocks away, and so we decided to walk. Our path took us through the fair, and we stopped for coffee, browsed t-shirts at a sidewalk sale, and played with the kittens they had for adoption at the pet shop. It was a warm reminder that life, somehow, goes on no matter what.
"I think Tom did this," his sister told us before we left the wake. "The fair was rescheduled from a couple weeks ago from the hurricane that never came. Now we're going to lose half the crowd to the beer tent!"
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