I'm running back home again tomorrow for the funeral of yet another aunt. I didn't know her as well as I did my Aunt Mollye, unfortunately; but her passing leaves my dad as the last one standing of his cohort - out of 3 brothers and their wives, 5 are now gone.
It's strange, realizing that the memories the 6 of them shared - memories of growing up during the depression, fighting in the Second World War, raising their families during the post-war boom and the subsequent turmoil of the 60's and 70's - are being snuffed out, as if they had never even happened. And I think of myself and my friends, immersed in our busy lives of child-rearing and jobs and social events, and imagine all that, too, someday slowly disappearing, barely or not at all remembered by our kids. That's one of the saddest things about a death - all the stories that die with that person, all the events and experiences the deceased can no longer bear witness to.
On the other hand, it's a Jewish funeral; so the food will be awesome. We're good at that.