A common "Bunny" greeting was "Hey, you bring that 5 bucks you owe me!??" Bunny's colorful expressions and ability to spin a yarn were second to none. You were never quite sure what was true, but it didn't really matter. His stories could go on all day and he was always ready to share his opinion, whether you wanted it or not.
Yes, there’s always a ribbon of sadness that winds through cemeteries like a low-lying mist. But I’ve never found them creepy or frightening or dreary or morbid. The opposite: They’re like libraries of lives, the headstones compressed autobiographies, condensed as for Twitter.
The woman sitting opposite me in an Edinburgh cafe is called Rebecca Green. She is in her early 40s, with a soft Birmingham accent and a gentle, smiling face. She is a nurse. But she also does something else – something that has prompted both fascination and animosity in those she has told about it. She is a death doula.