Well, actually, as I write this, it's 3002. I know, I know, some bloggers get that many hits in a month, or a week, or even a day. I just thought it was neat.

Last week I was in California, missing my dad. The viewing was scheduled for monday afternoon, then we as a family were going to get a bite to eat, and the following morning would be the mass and then the funeral service at the cemetary. It was all arranged, all I had to to was get there. But getting there was so hard. My thoughts drifted to 4 years ago when my mom passed. I was hit hard by her passing, and truly wasn't looking forward to another viewing. Seeing Ma in the casket really did me in, and it's still difficult to talk about. How the hell am I gonna take seeing Daddy there? My two sons were with me, each of us dealing with this situation differently, because we each had a different relationship with this wonderful man we just lost. As I walked into the funeral home, I really didn't want to be there, but I wanted to see my dad one last time. My brother and youngest sister walked up to me and asked me to pin the army medals on Dad, and I lost it. They felt that since I had followed in his footsteps and joined the Army, that I would know how to pin the medals on Dad, and they wanted him to go see Ma looking right. I pinned the medals on him, and his airborne wings, and his special forces pin. And I stabbed my finger. And I cried like I've never cried before. I heard my oldest son sob, my youngest son held the pins for me as I placed each one on my dad. He looked really good. The mortician is to be commended. Daddy looked like he was sleeping. We all half expected to hear him snore. I learned he carried a rosary in his pocket every day. A fact I think I was vaguely aware of. I rememeber seeing the rosary on his dresser, but I wasn't aware he carried it every day. As we recited the rosary, I thought maybe it would bring me some comfort, as it must have comforted him, but the more we recited, the harder it was for me to recite, and I didn't draw any comfort at all. It made me sadder. Family and friends were then given an opportunity to tell a story about Dad that made us smile, and some lovely things were said about him. The next day was the mass, and I cried all the way thru it. Then we were following the hearse, and it takes a wrong turn and gets on the freeway, and my sons and I bursted out in laughter. The hearse driver is lost, my sister and brother both trying to get the driver's attention, and I could see they were lauging too. Just like my dad would have liked it: one more time around the block. We do get to the cemetary, and the funeral director is a wreck, apologizing, and not understanding our mirth. We all agreed Daddy would have been laughing, so should we. But I'm not laughing now, cause I just miss him. His suffering and pain have ended, and I'm grateful for that, but I'm just so sad. I don't know how long I'll be sad.