What was interesting with Zvika, was that he seemed to be coping better, and that made me envious of him yet again. We left Toronto early to make the morning funeral in London. Rather unwisely, I let Zvika drive, with the vague plan of catching a nap during the two-hour drive. But he drove so aggressively, changing lanes, pulling up behind other cars, that I got zero sleep, and by the time we arrived my nerves were frazzled.
The funeral at the church was brutal. George’s sister had momentary hysterics at one point, and I cried almost nonstop. Seeing him—or rather his body, it wasn’t him—in the coffin, hit me like a brick. Then we were off to the cemetery for the interment, and that was grim too. It didn’t rain, but almost. I thought if it had rained it would have helped, as a kind of symp
