We saw the body today. That was so difficult. You know how people say the person never looks the same when they're all made up and in the casket? Well, I have to say, they did a really good job with my father. My brother and sister said he looked just like himself. His body was so cold. But his hands... they were cold, too, but they felt more real. I held his hand and knew that it was his. He was much easier to hug when he was alive, though.
We all walked in to see him together. My sister needed help to stand. She is so hurt. And that hurts me. I love her so much. It was good for her to see him, though. It'll be hard when they close his casket on Tuesday.
We each got a few moments alone with him. What can you say? I didn't really say anything. Not verbally. I spoke in my mind and in my heart. I love my father! I miss him so much already. I keep expecting to see him walk into the room. I keep thinking I can still call him and talk to him. I wish I had done that more. I wish... I wish for so much.
The newspaper called just as we left the funeral home to ask some questions about the obituary my mother wrote and submitted to them. We got into telling the guy about all the things my father had done over the years that he was proud of and that we were all proud of. The guy kept asking questions, so we kept answering them. Well, my brother and my mother were the only ones who really talked to him, but we all talked with each other. He really was such a great, great man. I know I'm biased, but the man truly was incredible. There are so many stories to tell.
We all love you so deeply, Dad. I know you always knew we loved you up to the very last day, but you still managed to underestimate your value. You touched so many lives. People the world over -- literally! -- will be mourning your death and struggling to find a way to celebrate your life in the midst of our own loss. I love you Dad.