Funeral blues

Tomorrow my father will be buried. It is a strange feeling, it will mean the end of the process that begun the fateful morning when the doctors told us that he wasn't responding to their treatment and wasn't getting any better. We carried on hoping, but fate had other plans. After tomorrow we will have said our final goodbye. That will be a strange feeling. Life goes on, everybody says. But it will be different. So now I'll try to sleep a little, tomorrow will be here too soon. I sign off with the words of W. H. Auden:

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.