It is 12:14 a.m. We are peacefully exhausted. If it can be said that a day of funeraling was a good day, then I will say that it was.
Two hours on our feet, talking, hugging, laughing, crying, remembering. When you have a large family and a large circle of truly great friends, these events become a homecoming celebration. These days become something that the one lying in peace would have orchestrated on his own, if possible. It was possible.
Flowers and military salutes and a lingering summer breeze through the trees at the cemetery. Home-cooked food, memories of childhood and youth and just for fun, removing sport coats and shooting baskets in the church gym, photos, smiles, prayers. Old friends, such old dear friends. Priceless.
My four men in suits, freshly starched and pressed white shirts, perfectly tied ties. Grandpa would be proud.
It was a day of honoring. It was a day that pushes us to the next one and the one after that and the one after that.
Because of the one lying in peace, we have the responsibility to love harder and louder and bigger and better.
And we will.