A lot of people, my mother included, seem to think I'm a lot more distraught than I am. For sure, it's upsetting to think about, and part of me thinks maybe I just don't understand or believe it yet.

I said goodbye to him last week, I said "Sleep well," when I leaned over to kiss his cheek. I didn't think it was the last time I'd see him. Maybe my mom knew, she cried as we walked away, but she always does that when she sees him in the home.

He was ready to go, though. He said his goodbyes three or four years ago, even before he got to the nursing home. I love him for staying with us for so long, he did it for his children. What other reason could he have had? So ready.

It's a mixed bag of emotions, mostly because of tour. You can look back and see how excited I've been to hit the road again. When my father called to tell me, I knew it before he said he was gone, and the next thought was that I wasn't going to leave for tour. But I wasn't thinking of funeral duties, I was thinking of my mother. We all promised that we'd come home from wherever we were when it happened, for her.

It happened, though, and that's it. The funeral is Friday, we're going to Staten Island. Two days of wake Wednesday and Thursday. My mother wants me to read the Gospel at the service. I'll do it for her.

She's holding it together. She laughs. It's only on her lunch breaks that she says she gets lonely. She used to call him every day when she ate, to harass him about participating in activities at the home. She loves him so much, and now she's going to eat alone.

Last night, for the first time in almost a year, I had the thoughts again. I thought it might be envy of my grandfather, in that he crossed the bridge, he was on the other side. And he did it so fearlessly.

I'm still on the other end, terrified of what lies beyond. I really thought about not existing, the blackness. Back to the dentist's chair, put under, into a sleep beyond dreams. Inescapable nothingness.

Raymond Moody didn't convince me, I'm sorry. I need to read more.