The day after my “bonus” dad’s funeral service, I am feeling like a large truck has hit me.  It is inevitable, of course, that after all is said and done, the emotional and physical pain manifests.     His family has left, his things have been packed, and my mother is ready to transition back to my childhood home from the assisted living apartment she shared with him.   It is reminiscent of the feelings that bubbled within after I buried my father eight years ago.   What is it about grief that literally holds on like a team of skilled wrestlers pinning down where movement is impaired?  Just another part of the journey, I suppose.

Yesterday, as we braved the blustery, winter day to pay a final tribute, I realized that death isn’t the end, but merely a transition for a new chapter for the ones we love.   A military man for over 25 years, he was saluted for his bravery of serving two wars.  Full military honors were bestowed, and I was moved by the ceremony.  

So, today, I slowly move forward.  Baby steps.  One day at a time.   A string of mantras linger in my brain of caring for myself, but today, I can only focus on the breath, as I have a feeling that exhaling may be a source of solace.