Forcing a child to touch a dead body results in multiple personality disorder. Or have we all forgotten the lessons of The Three Faces of Eve?

Anyway, that's what set it off in the movie. I have a feeling in the book it was something worse (that they couldn't talk about in a movie back then).

Hee, damn straight Nicole, I will be much thinner in the afterlife.

My aversion to cemetaries and funerals started years ago, when we'd go to the cemetary and my grandmother would talk, at length, to her dead sons. I was quite prepared for Buffy; even when I was little I thought it was a bad idea to talk to dead people.

The dog is eating a bill. I guess this means that there have been actual cases in which the dog did eat the homework.

Am I the only sucker who starts crying at the end of Love, Actually no matter how many times I see it?

nope.

I have, on various occasions, sat on my mom's grave and just talked out loud to her. However, I've never once expected her to answer me, so I suppose that lends some sort of credit to my level of sanity.

I'm not sure why I find it comforting. I know she's not there. Her body is 6 feet under from where I sit, but it's not her. I'm fully aware of that. It has still been comforting at times in the past. I think when I was younger I simply wasn't sure where else to 'find her', so I went to the cemetary.

Nicole, that sounds like you're just able to focus more clearly by being there. Nothing strange about that!

Thanks, javachik.

Question for anyone that watched West Wing - I'll spoiler font, just in case: What season do Josh and Donna get together ?

I don't know that they ever do, in canon. But there's always fic.

My wife's uncle Tim passed away on Thanksgiving morning -- it's one of the reasons I've been such a lovely shade of charcoal grey. I swore many years ago that I'd never attend another open-casket funeral, but of course I went anyway.

I'm not quite sure what that human-shaped thing in the front of the service was, but it bore no resemblance to the gruff, comically selectively hard-of-hearing, unimaginably strong man who welcomed me into his family with open arms nine years ago.

And of course I didn't cry then -- Tim wanted us to carry on with our family Thanksgiving even though he knew he was dying, so we wound up having two family gatherings: one the planned Thanksgiving feast, which was almost eerily just the same as always, good food and good company and a few discreet tears. And then a week later, after the service, we all met up at Lisa's mum's place, and there was eating and drinking and telling of awful jokes. It was a great party; Tim would have loved it.

And now, of course, the monitor is blurry as I type this, and I just can't believe he's gone.

Oh, Karl. I am so sorry for your loss.