A co-worker lost her three-year-old grandson early Wednesday morning. Brain cancer. They'd known for a long time that it was terminal, and Tuesday night she told us he was dying. We got her a card, of course, and many of the students and staff made cash donations to help out the family, and I think the school sent flowers. The funeral was today. I didn't go.
I didn't go because John was working, and the idea of packing up three kids to attend a funeral was daunting. The idea of sitting through the funeral with three kids wasn't so tempting either. And I didn't think Trea would handle it well - or rather, I didn't want to have to explain to Trea (or Adia) why these things happen. Mostly because I don't know.
And the real reason I didn't go was because I could. not. stand. the idea of seeing a three-year-old laid out in a casket, and then coming home to take care of my kids who are 5, 3, and 4 months.
I didn't go because I am a wuss.
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2 comments:
Oh man, so sad for them! I totally understand what you mean though about funerals, especially one for a little child. That would be more than I could handle.
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