After the cemetery visit, and decompressing and sitting numbly staring at each other for a while, we started going through his kitchen cabinets. So far I am the winner, having found a box of cornstarch that expired in 1989, which means that it's a very short time away from being old enough to run for president, which prompted a round of terrible "Gene's Old Cornstarch 2024! If you don't vote for Cornstarch, you're voting for Jared!" jokes.
Other than that, everything is pretty fucked up, including the fact that the attending who filled out the form that goes to the county coroner's office did some small technical thing wrong, so the coroner bounced the whole thing back and the mortuary can't collect his remains until the small technical error is fixed because until it is no death certificate can be issued. But the attending who attended at his death is now off call and not scheduled to return until sometime late tomorrow. SO, the Monday funeral slot we were semi-promised is no longer available, and the funeral (with my dad not embalmed, dressed or groomed, just in a body bag, with favorite items of clothing folded neatly on top of the body bag inside a metal-lined COVID-19 compliant coffin) will likely have to be Tuesday. Unless someone can light a fire under the attending's ass, in which case it may be Friday. But we don't know and we have no control. OPA!