The family and friends will gather next week. We're still working out details, changing Emma's ticket so she can meet me in Edmonton, weighing the merits of me driving up or both of us flying for the whole trip, etc. Many phone calls have been made. It's odd how funerals are too often the times we see people we love. I must tell a relative to get married.
Actually, among the coincidences: my nephew Brian got married without telling anyone on the morning Liz died. He's driving up with his new wife and their child, the most adorable two-year old ever.
Mom doesn't remember the exact term the coroner used; she came away thinking it was some sort of heart disease. I have had slightly high cholesterol for the last few years, never so high that the doctor insisted I start taking something for it, but now I will.
The mystery: Liz and Mom usually put both of their names on anything like a bank account or safety deposit box. There's no will in the safety deposit box that Mom's name was also on. But two days before she died, Liz rented another safety deposit box, and Mom's name isn't on it. They can't open it until they have a death certificate.
I don't think it's a big mystery. I suspect Liz needed to get Mom's signature to add her to the official owners of the new box. But if I was plotting a story, this would have to be significant.
What I really think is it's another example of none of us knowing how much time we have left.