Today is Karine's funeral; although, come to think of it, was might be more accurate, since noon in Oslo has long passed. Anyhow, in honor of my dear departed friend, I am wearing a red shirt today. Why? Because when Karine's cancer was first diagnosed, she went out and bought herself the most outrageous, fabulous, impractical red crushed-velvet coat. She called it her FY-coat, as in "Fuck you, cancer! I am not going to just keel over and die."
I can't stop thinking about her young son, just Stephanie's age, at his own mother's funeral.