Remember how I told you that I set traps in cemeteries, sometimes? And remember how I told you that I love cemeteries? I suppose it was inevitable. I came up on a small country cemetery today, and a graveside service was taking place. There were 4 people there, including the funeral director, the hearse driver, the cemetery guy who had, I'm supposing dug the hole, and would be responsible for filling it in. So there was only one fellow there who might have been an actual guest. But he was dressed in shorts, so I'm not sure that he was a mourner. But I looked at the little group and it just seemed so sad, really, such a small gathering. I sat in my truck doing the necessary site paperwork, and hoping that at the end of my life, I'd have just a few more mourners. Laughing at my own vanity, a little, because I'm sure when the time comes, I'm not going to be all emotional about it, no matter how it turns out.
I wondered about this service, this sad little gathering. Much to my shock, as I was leaving, I read the name, recognized it right away. This person was my relative.