She Knew What It Was To Wait

All Morning, Spence Has Been A Well-oiled Machine Of Activity. Everyone Doing Her Bit, Quietly And Efficiently. It's Strange How Deliberate People Are After A Death. All The Indecision Suddenly Vanishes Into Clear, Defined Moments--changing The Linens, Choosing A Dress Or A Hymn, The Washing Up, The Muttering Of Prayers. All The Small, Simple, Conscious Acts Of Living A Sudden Defense Against The Dying We Do Every Day.

You Set Fire To My House, Killed My Family, And Ate My Dog. But Steal My Boyfriend? That's A Step Too Far.

It's Knowing I'll Never Have What She Has--a Beauty So Powerful It Brings Things To You. I Fear I Will Always Have To Chase Things I Want. I'll Always Have To Wonder Whether I'm Truly Wanted Or Whether I've Just Been Settled For.

When You Peeled Back The Skin, You Were Dealing With Bone And Muscle, Blood And Nerve Endings. It Was All The Same. She Liked The Beautiful Logic Of The Circulatory System, The Elegance Of The Neurological, And The Fierce Warrior Spirit Of The Heart. The Body Had Rules And It Had Quirks.

The Vicar, Whose Name Is Reverend Waite, Leads Us In Prayers That All Begin With 'o Lord' And End With Our Somehow Not Being Worthy-sinners Who Have Always Been Sinners And Will Forever More Be Sinners Until We Die. It Isn't The Most Optimistic Outlook I've Ever Heard But We're Encouraged To Keep Trying Anyway.