Writing and planning

It is still surreal. I'm at my mother's house and planning my father's funeral. Details that you would think would set you off hardly cause a stir of the heart, but then other things.. picking out the clothes he will be buried in set off this hot flash of emotions as you sort through the clothing and catch that faint scent of a smell that is undeniably the remnants of the person you loved so desperately.

I want to write something to read at the funeral, well I wrote it already. Now to figure out if I can have the strength to stand up there and not break down. Part of me thinks I will regret it if I don't, but then again I know my father would not care either way.. I can hear him in my head yelling at me and Mom already and telling us to just cut it out and get on with it already. I know deep down that he is content and at peace, and those smiles that come onto my face battle the tears and the lonliness of losing him so unexpectedly.

Of course, the funeral home planning is today, we'll see how I manage to make it through that part.