I keep trying to write something about Grandpa's funeral and visitation that would sum up the experience, but everything falls short. There was so much love. There were so many tears. There was just enough laughter. I can't imagine it any different. But the words still aren't coming.

I do know that I will ever be thankful for all the friends and family that came out to support us. There were people I haven't seen since I was 13 who immediately knew who I was. I got hugs sent from friends I'd lost track of 25 years ago. I visited with cousins I last saw 16 years ago. There was a wonderful man from Grandma's church (the church I grew up in) who stayed at the funeral dinner to help serve and then to make balloon animals and hats for all the great grandkids. We came home with a van full of his creations and the FarmHands loved every moment of it. How many people can say they had a wonderful time at their grandfather's funeral?

It was a blessing.

He's still gone.  That won't change. There's still a gaping hole in my heart. That won't change. Grief still sneaks up on me at the most unexpected of times. I'm hoping that will change, but I don't know for sure.

At the moment I just know "real life" is about to start again and that scares me. I'd much rather stay cocooned in my house, napping on my couch, talking to whom I please when I please, and thinking of nothing past a thrown together lunch for the FarmHands and when I next need to fold laundry. But that's not how life works. If it did I fear I'd never function again.