In Which an Aftermath, of Sorts, Is Discussed.

We'd finally made it through the day - the memorial and reception were behind us. We'd sat stoically through the service, smiled beatifically at reception guests we'd never before seen in our lives, nodded sympathetically with the so-called bereaved. After the reception clean-up we went to the house for one last time (or so we thought) and proceeded to collect a few big-ticket items that had been left to us: a couch, a chair, a little drop-leaf table, etc. We had purchased a storage space earlier in the day.

My uncle had requested, for some strange reason, that my mother leave her set of house keys in the house, a fact that severely limited our ability to lock the door, but whatever. With the single handle lock engaged we left the house with our items and drove, in the pouring rain, to the storage facility and began unloading our things. When we were done, we closed shop, locked up, and got back in the car.

( It was at this point that my mother said... )