We had a visitation/viewing.
We underestimate kids.
They understand now that death is a part of life.
The kids picked out special pictures and we placed them in her coffin.
My oldest boy shook with sobs. My youngest kept his arms around him.
The violist played powerful, touching, comforting pieces. Bach, Stravinsky, Debussy.
I wrote the eulogy and said a beautiful poem.
At the internment, the pain from my husband and father-in-law was so great, I switched into movie mode and watched from a distance.
Now I'm at home, it’s late and everybody has left. The house is quiet. So quiet, but I can’t seem to slow down. I’m walking around looking at the flowers, the cards.
Outside, the sky is clear and the air is completely still.
In this quite, I realize I’ve been waiting for the weight on my shoulders to take flight, but it’s still there.
I guess everything that hasn’t been resolved is making itself known and demanding attention.
I have some thinking to do. I have some grieving to do.
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