OK, that was hard . . .

We had a death in town last week, a 19-year-old kid who graduated last year.

I was at the memorial get-together at the high school Friday and had to leave for a few minutes, because I am still trying to deal with Jane's death, and I suck at death anyway.

So this morning, I called the animal hospital the parents run, hoping to get a receptionist who could tell me if there was a plan for a memorial fund.

That was the better part of an hour ago.

I got Mom, then Dad.

Great kid, prankster, the kid everyone knew, the one with the big smile.

Rolled his jeep on the way to school junior year and, as Dad told me openly, he got addicted to Oxycontin, and that's what killed him.

I had the story written without that and without his parents.

Now, back to work.