It’s a surreal feeling – today is your funeral, Larry. We’re all here to say goodbye.
It’s been gray and cold here in York, Maine, raining this morning – and matching my mood. The sun is supposed to shine for your graveside service. It would be nice if you could arrange that, please.
I’ve been wandering between tasks and tears. Although it’s a rather gross simile, grief feels like nausea to me. It’s constantly there. I try to breathe carefully and push it away, then without warning it takes over and I sob. There’s a moment or two of relief, then the same horrid feeling returns.
It was so hard to leave our house yesterday morning to fly up here. You were everywhere I looked and I just felt you wouldn’t be there when I came back, that I was leaving you behind in my life. I know you’ll always be in my heart but I wish with all my heart you were still in my life.
People told me I would feel some level of relief when you died, to be done with the caregiving. I feel NO relief. Just grief.
Today is your funeral. We will cry today – my waterproof mascara probably won’t last through the flood. We will laugh today. We will celebrate you.
You’d love the laughter. Just know that the tears are the salty evidence of our love.