Thank you. It's really marvelous of you to say so. I must say, there are many more people than I thought there'd be. I think, though, my sweet cherub, that we can drop our pretenses. Please, don't deliberately misinterpret me. I loved your father very much and cherished each and every moment we had with him. But it's my opinion that he would have wanted us to be honest with one another in this moment.

It's not so bad that he died.

No, not at all -- not in the way you're asking about. He was killed instantly. On impact, as they say. But as you know, there are other ways one can suffer. You're not entirely wrong. He was a very happy sort of man. But there are other things to life beside happiness. Oh, I don't know... the romance of ennui, the thrill of power, money. All of this, little lamb, is distinctly not the point. The point is, things can be better for all of us now that he's gone. In some ways, don't you feel as though he was holding us back? I'm not sure I'd care to get into specifics. But he seemed to know it too. Every once in a while, when things were going beautifully, his eyes would soften, and he'd look at me, and I'd know. I'd know that he knew that I could do better. He was not much of a lover.

Of course all of us miss him. I will miss him in many ways. I will miss him while I travel and go to the theater and go to see music. I will miss him when I go out for a few cocktails. I suppose I may miss him in ways I don't anticipate. I may miss the boorish manner in which he attacked each and every meal as though it would be his last and then fell ill half-way through it, like a slow child in front of an ice cream carton. I may miss his idiotic rants about the idiocy of men with half his idiocy. I may his horrid noises from the bathroom. But in each case, darling, I doubt it.

These last two days, though, have been torturous. I will accept your sympathies in that regard. Unending torment, really. Forgetting for a moment all of the phone calls, the funeral arrangements, and the influx of flowers that I have simply no room for, think of the trouble of picking you and your siblings up at the airport, driving the all of you all over the place, making sure everything is just right for you in the house, cooking and what have you. Yes, but I worked hard to ensure that it was properly heated and served, did I not? I don't appreciate the semantic fussiness, my child. Please bear in mind that you are speaking to a widow.

I will be a happier person when these next few days are over.

I've not said that. Do not forget that only oneself can be responsible for one's happiness. That's a lesson I tried to instill in you from an early, early age (some said too early). Your father was not responsible for my happiness and therefore not to blame for its limits. All that I mean to say is that I plan to do a better job of managing that responsibility now that I'm unhinged from certain moral, familial, and societal obligations. Who is that dark bearded thing near the back of the room? He's not family, is he? Well, if they aren't married, dear, he's not family. Excuse me.

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