With love

We had a memorial service for my father this last weekend, almost seven months after he died.  We waited until the summer because the last thing he would have ever wanted was for people to travel during the winter.

Miraculously, everyone was able to come--

children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren.  I can't help but think that as time goes on, it will become harder and harder for us to all get together like that.  I am inexpressively grateful that we could share this weekend together.

My sister and brother-in-law built a memorial garden on their farm up north.  It's a beautiful spot, surrounded by fields and trees.  They cleared a space, put in a fence, and paths, and a rock wall.  They planted a lilac tree, and a catalpa tree, and lots of other flowering plants.  It's a good place.

We played music for my father, songs he loved.  We read poems and said prayers and told stories and laughed and shed lots of tears.  At the end, while the Liebestod played, the two little girls released yellow balloons into the sky; they flew off high into the clouds, a final farewell

to a man deeply loved by his family.  

I love you, Dad, and I still miss you.

Love,

Maggie