I don't think I've ever met a person who actually enjoys a funeral and tomorrow will be my third for this year. The first, in January, was for my Aunty Betty, who was a terrific lady and who I remember with great fondness, but she was 80 and that's not a bad innings is it?
The second was for a young bloke, 24 years of age, who died in a motor bike accident and who I knew through basketball. He left behind a wife and twins who will now never know their father.
And tomorrow is Kevin's.
I know that the funeral is the beginning of the healing but I still struggle to go because I always end up drained at the end of them. And when they are for young people it is particularly difficult. So if I do not write tomorrow you'll know why.