Tuesday nights.

Last night we was a night full of sadness. We went to my husband’s cousin’s wake. It was so odd, almost surreal, to be there and see everyone. There was such an air of grief, yet there were also people greeting each other and asking about children and even smiling at something someone said. I didn’t know what to do with myself.

I found myself asking, “How are you?” when I saw people, and then immediately chastised myself. I knew how they were; they were sad. Yet I didn’t know what else to say. I’m not one of those people who says the right thing at the right time. Instead, I’m one of those people who will immediately, upon speaking to you, put my foot directly into my mouth. Or I will be very quiet. And then there we are, standing in awkward silence. Last night I remained silent, awkward or no, just so I didn’t say the wrong thing. I spent most of the night standing just behind my husband while he spoke with family and friends.

We were late getting home, and the kids – who were not at the wake, but at their cousin’s house playing – didn’t get to bed until after 11:00. I think they will suffer today because 11:00 may as well be the middle of the night as far as they are concerned. My kids are totally staying up late if their heads do not hit the pillow until 9:00, nay 8:30, and so 11:00 was foreign to them. My daughter was so broken down by the time we stepped foot into the house that she immediately began to cry. My son kept exclaiming, “I can’t believe we stayed up so late!”

And he asked if we were going to do this every Tuesday. And, Son, I sincerely hope not. I sincerely hope not.

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