A7.

My homecoming was supposed to be a joyous one. Not so much.
I'm currently sitting in a terminal, headphones in, drinking an Odwalla, and praising God for wireless- all five days too early and not in good spirits.

In books and movies, you see people heading home, after a long-term absence, due to a death or other form of tradegy. I remember thinking how hard that must be, not returning home to a celebratory reunion, but to ceremonial mourning.

I don't do funerals. Call me naive, immature, whatever, but I fear them. They make me angry, make me want to close myself off from the world, as if it's not happening. Because they hurt others, and I can't bear to see others hurting, nor hurting within myself. I realize this may sound awful, but I think anyone would agree that death is not a favored reality check. Still, regardless of how I feel, this is not my time to be selfish. I will return home, support my family and my late uncle. I will face it and be strong. For my dad. For my grandma. For my sisters. And I will rest assure that God's cracked and calloused working hands will emerge once more, to shape something beautiful from something so sad and painful.

Sorry this is so depressing.