Today has not been pleasant. Mom and I went to Dale's funeral. She and I walked up to look at him in the casket...and it just felt so odd to look at him. He looked like himself, yet he didn't. I could tell that all life was out of him...so it didn't really look like him. I kept waiting for his chest to go up and down, but it wasn't. He wasn't breathing. People always look plastic lying there like that. And they look really short. I'm getting cremated when I die.

We sat down, and I began crying really hard. I began thinking of the times we spent together. I began realizing that I'll never hug him again. I began thinking of my dad. I began getting really uneasy at not knowing where Dale is. Then I realized that, fuck it, I'm going to stop worrying about having to know EVERYTHING about God and the afterlife. I know that there's a Heaven in the end, and if Dale's not there now, he will be some day. A lady (I think she was a minister's wife) came to speak. She read some scriptures, and she began talking about grandpa (what Dale had me call him...he got upset when I stopped calling him that when I got older). I couldn't hold back my tears. My brother Dan came in late and sat down in front of us because there were no chairs next to us. I could see him heaving. I hate death. I hate looking at Peggy and fake smiling and not knowing what to say. I hate the way my mother has acted today. I've wanted to scream at her and shake her. She says things like, "He looks really good" and "I bet he's with Jim now," something I actually have been saying, but for some reason, everything she said today made me want to cuss her out. After the service, mom and I waited for Dan. He walked out, and he was crying harder than anyone. I hugged him and began crying just as hard. He said, "Jeannie, I don't know if you remember, but he took care of you when you were a little baby when dad was in the hospital. He was so good to you." That's what everyone in my family keep saying about Dale...how he was with dad. He was there for my father all the time. I think he was actually my dad's best friend, quite possibly. Mom and I went out and sat in the car, waiting for everyone to get out so that the funeral procession could start. This is when my irritation with her began...it's really stupid, but the second we got outside, she lit up a goddamned cigarrette. I just cannot fathom how she could think about smoking a cigarrette when someone she loves just died. People began walking out after we'd been in the car for what seemed like ages, and it seems like EVERYONE was smoking. And I just began getting really angry at the act of smoking...not the act of it, really, because I smoke on occasion...but just doing it CONSTANTLY and HAVING to smoke. And then when mom and I were sitting there in the car, she starts up talking about how Dale wasn't a Catholic and may not have even gotten Baptized, so she doesn't know if he's going to go to Heaven. I felt so much anger built up inside of me...I literally wanted to strangle her. How could she SAY something like that! How could she even question Dale's salvation...he was a fucking WONDERFUL human being, probably a hell of a lot better than she is. Then she started talking about how when daddy died, the number of people that attended his funeral was far more than anyone else's funeral Brown Dawson Funeral Home had ever had before. And I began wondering how someone like her could have ended up with someone like my father. I began wondering how he could even love her. God, I've been so hateful today...why am I LIKE this?! Then we drove to the cemetery in the procession. Then on the way home, mom said, "That lady was a pretty good speaker for..." And I said, "What, mom, for what?" And she said, "...for not being a Catholic." And I said, "Mother, she's still a human being!" And she said, "You're right. I hope God is really the way you say He is. I hope Dale goes to Heaven." Sigh. I made her take me to McDonalds because I was starving, and for some reason unbeknownst to me, I got a double quarter pounder. I have not eaten meat in over a year. I ate the whole thing, but it didn't even taste good. It was dry, and I kept biting down on hard things that were probably bone. I feel so full and disgusting now. And I feel so gittery, like I just took a yellow jacket. It's probably all the protein and iron and vitamin D and whatever else my body hasn't gotten such a large percentage of in over a year. But I'm still glad I ordered it because at least I know now that I'm 100% content in my decision to be a vegetarian. I'm hoping that if I am vegan for long enough, that cheese will begin tasting horrible to me, too. Somehow I doubt that, though, because I LOVE CHEESE...haha. I don't feel all that guilty for ingesting half a pound of COW...I'm sure I will later, though. Sometimes guilt doesn't set in until later.

Well, Tara just called me. We're going to study together after a bit, and I'm going to visit with Peggy before that, so I'm going to go now. I hope I get less mean as the day goes on.

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