My uncle died.
I went to the beach.
Normally, I’d have flown from my home in Washington, DC to Detroit for the funeral. However, my husband and I had already spent a significant chunk of cash to rent a house for the week on the Delaware shore to mark our anniversary, an advance payment which was not refundable. My uncle, who was 90, had been ill for months and I’d had the chance to visit him before he died. He was my father’s brother, and my father had died years ago, though even when he’d been alive, he was not the type to ask for my emotional support during a dark time. Also, plenty of other family members would be in attendance.