I promise this blog isn't going to be all about death, it just seems to inspire me in some morbid way.
I've seen maybe three corpses in my life.
The first one was my grandma Neva, who I clearly had some issues in dealing with. I don't remember much of her actual body, but I remember touching the coffin.
The second was my grandpa Mayer. I don't remember his body either, I just remember his military respects and the ice cream cone the funeral organizer bought me. It was shaped like the pink panther.
The third was grandpa Honey. His nurse had shaved his mustache and he refused to eat before he died, so he was thin, skeletal, and unrecognizable in the coffin. I didn't touch it or anything, I just held my sister's hand.
At the service, I wasn't crying. I didn't even have any sort of emotions. I made a joke to cheer up my grandma, his daughter, and I thought about how I was sharing a room with a dead body.
When I got told he died, I was in the middle of dancing. After I hung up, I went right back to dancing.
I don't know if it's fully set in yet.
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