Feeling Sick And Apprehensive

I have taken my black suit out of the closet and laid it on the bed. I don't want to climb into it until the last possible moment.

I bought it for my father's funeral. I hate suits.

I think I shall wear sandals with it. And I'm not wearing a tie. I hate ties worse than suits.

I remember Bran at his mother's funeral. A restless, angular, jerky figure, hanging with his friends, making jokes. (I wish now I could remember what they were.) I think he was wearing a red jacket, but maybe I'm imagining that. A red jacket is what he should have been wearing. He objected to death. He didn't want to have anything to do with it. He refused to give it an inch.

He is being buried (Ruth's choice) in a bright red shroud.