Standing in sub-zero temperatures in just a suit jacket watching Kathy's coffin be lowered into the ground I came to the realization that in the midst of God's master plan for life on earth, it is a cruel twist that has a parent bury a child. My Aunt could barely handle the funeral and didn't even attempt the gravesite. My Uncle was slightly more stoic, but only slightly. And once again, I had to put my pall bearer skills to the test. All in all, Friday wasn't the greatest day of the holiday season for me or my family. Kathy was 33. They read the following poem at the gravesite and I guess I feel compelled to share.

Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glint on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you wake in the morning hush,
I am the swift, uplifting rush
of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the soft starlight at night.
Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there, I do not sleep.
Do not stand at my grave and cry.
I am not there, I did not die!--Mary Frye (1932)

I don't mean to go on about this, but it hit me rather hard at a time when I was already reflecting on mortality and the fragility of the human life.

On Saturday we went with Glen, Amy, and Cole to Babies R Us. There is sooo much crap associated with a child we don't even have yet. I'm beginning to think that if there was a test to parenthood I'd flunk. There are car seats and boosters and travel systems and breast pumps and swings and cribs and changing tables and bassinets and portable changing mats and diapers and pull-ups and bottles and bibs and washcloths and clothes and strollers and high chairs and on and on and on. At least the Pens beat Columbus. Now let's roll over Buffalo and carry a winning streak into Carolina so that we can beat Atlanta on Saturday when I'll be sitting at the game enjoying it.
One last thing, watch this space in the next couple of days or so. I'll be starting my annual fundraising for the MS Walk, which, for me, has taken on a whole new meaning this year. So, I'll be hitting everyone up and generally begging for money.