In the middle of the eulogy at my mother's boring and heartbreaking funeral, I started to think about calling off the wedding. She died the day before their fiftieth wedding anniversary. The hors doerves for the anniversary celebration would be used at the wake. She had always loved those tiny egg rolls. Aunt Celeste said they were low class, but my Mom, in a rare instance of flouting convention, stuck with her egg rolls.

The service was long, formal and pretentious. She would have loved it. All the people she admired from church were there in their finest clothes, except Mr. Green who wore that same corduroy jacket she'd hated. There were eight doctors, if you counted Dr Blum the psychiatrist, which she wouldn't have. At least four people from the bank where she had worked attended. The retired minister as well as Rev. Dean performed the service. Double the bullshit if you ask me.

Gary said he would try to find a plane to get him here on time. He didn't make it. My mother's dead, shouldn't my future husband have been there. Isn't this one of those moments you are allowed to take it for granted your spouse will be by your side. How did this bode for the birth of our first child, our anniversaries, and my god, even the wedding? I longed to take a swig from a strong gin and tonic and kick off my heels.

The service was fifty-six minutes long. The old guy spoke, the young guy spoke, the singer sang. Then they did the whole thing again, at least twice. Then they put the casket into the ground and we walked away. I put Dad into the car and we drove back to the house to feed the bereaved.

I made sure every doily was in place, every one of her porcelain corgis arranged, every tissue and toilet paper holder full. I used all the correct serving implements on the buffet. No newspapers, magazines or books were out. Appearances were perfect; no one would know the hostess was dead.

The mood was more festive then funeral. The jaunty coconut shrimps skewered to a pineapple were just not mournful. I did drink that gin and tonic and slip off my shoes. I patrolled the perimeter every fifteen minutes to make sure Dad wasn't surrounded by hungry widows. They know how to get to the widowers when they are vulnerable, make themselves indispensable in the beginning, and land one before he realizes what's happened.

It's so unfair that the first time I saw my father fragile and unable to cope, I was at my least capable, having lost my mother. Many people say grief

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