Sooo despite the tragic event of this morning, something humorous also happened-
My parents and grandparents have this thing set up for when they die through a place called Med Cure or some shit. Basically, you die, your family calls Med Cure, they call someone, that someone comes and picks up the body and ships it to Med Cure, Med Cure uses it for medical research.
Well, the Med Cure center is in Portland, Oregon.
We live in East Dubuque, Illinois AKA Nowhere, USA.
The lady on the phone said that since we "live in such a rural area," she doesn't really know what to do. The closest funeral home to us with refrigeration is in Chicago, which was four hours away. By the time the fridge-truck arrived, the body would have been marinating for a bit too long for them to be able to use. So she said they may have to refuse her donation. And so we're like, wtf? By this time, its about 2:00. My gramma has been dead for about 5 and a half hours. It was getting a tad smelly in the house.
So we're scrambling to find someone closer who has refrigeration, and in the meantime my father suggests just driving her down to the local freezer plant. Laughter ensues, yet the idea is somewhat tempting...
Then we decide to call the town coroner/town's only funeral director, Bill Miller. He agrees to take the body and put her on dry ice until a fridge-truck can come pick her up.
So, until a few hours ago, my grandmother was basically a cocktail shrimp.
Ahhhhhhhh, gramma, you never make things easy.