Amanda Witt on the Immeasurable Value of Wasted Lives
Today I and five other women served a funeral meal for a hundred mourners. The proceedings didn’t move me—the deceased was full of years, and besides, I’d never met her, though I did have to walk past her open casket to get to the church kitchen, hurrying my children, not because I was worried about their fragile little psyches but because I simply didn’t feel like coping with whatever questions or emotions a dead body might raise. I’d rearranged our complicated schedules and driven across town in icy weather to help serve the funeral meal; that was enough.
Having settled the kids in an empt . . .
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