It was the morning of Christmas Eve, while other families are wrapping gifts and scrambling with the hustle and bustle of last minute details. Not this family.
We sat around my dining room table: my parents, Robb's parents, my brother, Robb's brother, my pastor, a precious best friend of mine, and the funeral director.
There were details to discuss: calling hours, funeral plans, cremation or casket, details, details, details.
Details one shouldn't discuss on Christmas Eve. Details one shouldn't discuss at her age of 31.
I needed to read and sign so many things, and my heart and mind were blank. Empty. Yet decisions awaited. Decisions only the widow could make.
The funeral director placed before me a pricing list. (Let's take a moment to acknowledge the uneasy presence of the funeral industry. And yet, I assure you, it is one. And everything has a price. Thankfully, everyone approached me with class and respect. But these were no less services rendered.)
At the top of the page, just in case our timing were different and we were here to 'plan ahead,' there was the option to 'lock in todays pricing.'
'Lock in todays pricing.'
My eyes went straight to the typo. That possessive noun needs an apostrophe. With my pen in hand, I corrected his pricing sheet.
Everyone around the table smiled. Two of them reached for their phones to post a Tweet or Facebook Status about the irony of the moment. Even in my grief, I know grammar.
My brother looked at the gracious funeral director. "I'm sorry, sir. My sister's a writer and editor. She can't help it."
Turns out, on a shaky and uncertain day, there is humor and comfort in the rules of punctuation.
I always suspected that could be true.