Here's the skinny: My dad died Christmas Eve. I found out at 11:30am the next day. The afternoon was punctuated with phone calls, making sure that my mom and bro got the news. G & I managed to open all the presents by 6pm, salvaging as much of the holiday as possible. Carl & Laura dropped by that night around 11:00pm; I made hot fudge sauce for ice cream. We slept til 3:30 the next day, mysteriously beat.

Grief is wacky. I'm mostly fine, with bouts of frowny face, flaily arms, and exhaustion. I expect to keep going through waves of the same for some time.

Funeral services are an unhappy, looming unknown in the equation.

Guh...