I went to a funeral yesterday. It wasn't anyone I was close to but someone I knew and had maybe met a few times in my life. She was my grandfather's sister...my great aunt...Pat Head. Yes, that was her name. Patricia Ann Pelham...later Head. She was a strong woman...went to Western Michigan to be a schoolteacher. She would take the bus to Kalamazoo from Jackson. On one such trip, she met a hung over soilder. He was stationed at Fort Custer in Battle Creek but he and his buddies had gone to Jackson for some fun. Half of the group left the same night. The other two guys decided to sleep off their fun and take the Greyhound back the next morning. One of these dudes sat next to Pat on the bus. They were married for 53 years. Crazy.

It seemed strange to be at a funeral of someone I just kind of knew. I definitely felt a lost connection to my past with the stories she knew or the family history only she could retell. I missed my grandfather, too. When his younger brother got up to give a speech, he did so just like grandpa would have...all of the pauses...the punch lines...the words...the tone. I guess this life is about things like this and my time is to be young...but I soak up what could be passed on. The probably makes no sense, so I'm going to bed now.