I was talking with someone yesterday about funerals.

She told me that she didn’t want to go to a funeral. She explained that she doesn’t like them. She reminded me that she’s nine. Other kids won’t be going, she told me.

Funerals help me appreciate life, I said.

We were talking down street, shuffling together, both wearing black clogs. 40 degrees. Cool air. Gray sky.

I went on: Funerals help me remember what’s important. I don’t like death at all. But funerals refocus me and help me remember—help me get unstuck from the unimportant.