A Weird, (but Peaceful) New Normal

A month ago yesterday at 9:25am my dad's earthly life ended.
In the end, I am thankful our whole family was together when dad passed away. We had finished praying the Chaplet of Divine Mercy all together and fifteen minutes later, he simply stopped breathing.

It is crazy to think it has already been a month, and yet it feels like so much has happened since then.

The immediate days after his passing were a scurry of planning funeral arrangements, picking flowers, and seeing that last minute details were taken care of - just as my dad desired.
While my dad worked in our archdiocese overseeing all the formation for permanent deacons, he also served as the deacon for many years at the parish we grew up and where my siblings and I went to school.
Going back for his wake and funeral was almost like a homecoming in many ways. The pastor and many, many volunteers came together to not only make those days for our family sacred and special, but they worked diligently to serve the needs our family. We will be forever grateful for all that they did for us.
They had greeters and people at the door to take temperatures. They created a room full of food and drinks so we could relax and get a break throughout the day. In the end, the people of the parish donated almost $34,000 to help cover medical expenses towards the very end so my mom could afford full-time hospice care and cover funeral expenses.
So many parishioners I had not seen in many years came to pay their respects to my dad. They told us kids how much they always loved Deacon Breen's homilies and shared their unique stories and memories of him. These are people whose kids I babysat, went to Youth Group with their kids, or trained their grandkids how to be an altar server. Even now it is difficult to comprehend the loving care and compassion my childhood parish showed to my family. What a gift it has been to see how many people loved, admired, and honored my dad.

The rosary service was the most beautiful wake that included song, Scripture, reflections, and different parishioners each leading a different decade of the Rosary. Towards the end of the wake, Fr. Tom invited people to come share words about my dad. I had spent a lot time thinking and praying what I would say, and I am so glad I shared some things with everyone present.
The funeral Mass for dad was beautiful and so much much more than any of us expected. Everything was as dad wanted it to be. He had planned his funeral from the music to the readings months ago. It was special knowing this was how he wanted things.
Archbishop Vigernon presided at the funeral Mass, along with two other of our regional bishops. Over 30 deacons came and another 10 priests. Seeing the tenderness with which they touched my dad's casket as they processed out of the church was such a  sight to behold.A very close family friend preached the homily. He both equally made us all laugh while convicting us of the power to have hope even in our sadness.
As walked out with my mom and sister of the church after the funeral, we were surrounded by all the clergy who lined the sidewalk as we walked dad to the funeral car. I whispered to my mom, "This is SO much more than Dad ever would have expected. This is the best send-off we could have possibly given him."
A week after the funeral we went to the cemetery for the internment of dad's remains. It was a cold, snowy Michigan day. After the prayers of committal, my nephew, brother's girlfriend, and I made snow angels for Papa right by his grave. It seemed like the most fitting way to end these days of celebrating the life and legacy of my dad.

Since then, life has begun to return to a new, yet weird type of normal.

I am back to work. My mom has gone back to her job as a hospice nurse. I think a lot about my dad, yet I do not cry a lot. I have had some sad, hard days. Things in my daily life remind me of him and I get little reminders of his presence.
I have dad's old sacrament books for Baptism and Matrimony. Someday when I experience those sacraments again, I plan to use them on those days so dad will still be with me. I have called his phone a few times and texted him, even though I know I will not get a response back. I have spent time reading his old WYD journals and have several pictures of him around my apartment.
I most feel my dad's presence at Mass (especially right before and after Holy Communion) or when I am in a church. At those times, the veil feels so thin, like he is peeking around a corner looking at me in a playful way as if to say, "Hey! I am still here with you. I am closer than you realize or imagine."Over the last week or so, that has become a very comforting and reassuring thought to sit with.

A new, yet weird normal is starting to shape in my life and the life of our family. There are some good, exciting things happening in our family (more on that later).
Part of my morning routine driving to work each day is talking with Jesus and reciting a few prayers that are very dear to me. I have recently added talking to my dad as part of that, and asking him to pray for particular intentions.

The most comforting line to me in the whole rite for funerals is this: Life has changed not ended.
What hope there is in that, to cling to that and remember it in my heart.

Life has changed in a huge way for me and my family. But it has not ended. New life is coming and in certain ways has come.
I am taking one day at a time, paying attention to being kind to myself especially when I have a day with a lot of big, heavy feelings. Even when I feel sad and cry wishing I could hear his voice, I find a lot of comfort in the hope of what I believe and the life/legacy my dad left us.

Keep showing up, Dad. Keep showing up with reminders that you are with us.