One week. It has been one week since my sweet daddy’s memorial service. A lot has happened in these seven days. Some relationships have been strengthened, while others seem to be di

sinigrating. The outpouring of love and support has been phenomenal. It actually helps to ease the pain just a little. I think I could better deal with things if I didn’t feel like he suffered needlessly. So much of what happened was preventable. But more about that later... I find comfort that he is finally at peace; it distresses me that he had to fight so long and hard to get there. I love that he is finally in the arms of his savior, but hate that his body is so far away in North Carolina. I love that he was so loved on this earth, but hate that memories of his services only serve to bring me pain, not to comfort me. I hate passing Morrissett’s on the way to work every day. I hate that mom is hurting, but I also know that she can’t heal herself by leaving scars on others. I hate that it seems he’s been forgotten already. I KNOW that’s not true, but as the days go on, and the cards slow to a trickle, I fear losing his memory. Someone told me in the midst of all of this, that he would not be forgotten as long as there was a person alive who had memories of him…well, that’s a great long time because sweet little Ellie still asks about him, and supposes that Pop is in heaven with Jesus making mashed potatoes! Pop did love some mashed potatoes, but not as much as he loved Ice cream. That was one of the stories I shared at his memorial service…the “shaping up” story…TO BE CONINUED......