Writing

Memorial Service

Yesterday was my dad’s memorial service. It was very beautiful and everything seemed perfect. They did mess up on one of the hymns that we were going to sing in the service (we wanted How Great Thou Art rather than Amazing Grace), but it was only a minor thing. My favorite part was when the two girls from the air force base came in and folded the flag and played taps. I don’t know why, but I enjoy watching the military going through their motions. So precise to the minute detail. If I could be in the military, I would, but I don’t think I could go through boot camp or go overseas to war.

The food at lunch afterwards was really good. The pulled pork was delicious. Apparently it was from Montgomery Inn, a place with a reputation for great food. I’ll probably have to make a journey down to the city of it’s birth to eat some of their other food. My friend Whitney went to the service and came over for lunch afterwards for an hour. I’m glad she came, she was the only one of my friends who came to the service. My boss and another library co worker came (one of the children’s librarians) came to the visitation. I’m thankful they both came. And my seventh grade music teacher came as well as an old high school friend and her grandma. I guess most of them came to the visitation than the actual service, though the whole room was filled up during the service. My mom and I weren’t expecting that at all. We thought only a few people would come. I guess people surprise you.

As beautiful as the service was and as busy as the afternoon was, I was glad when everybody left. Way too many people poking, prodding, being nosy about the house and being bossy about certain things (mostly from my dad’s side of the family). People try to be helpful in certain circumstances but sometimes you just want to be away from everybody. Now that the service is over, I guess the next step now is to figure out what the new normal is. I’m sure it’ll take a long time and probably never truly get there, but at least it’s a start.

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