Dear Pap-Pap

I held up better than expected today. I'd forgotten how easy it was to get to the church. Turns out, Evans City was holding its Zombie Weekend and was setting up when we went through the first time. It was really busy on the way out. Seems to be something to help the shops. Also turns out that Zelie had some sort of Fall Festival. It's basically Horse Trading Days. It looks exactly the same, but in the fall. It also seems to stretch further than that one intersection by the stone church, because there were more tents set up in a parking lot a couple blocks up Main Street.

I'd forgotten what Jennifer's voice sounded like. I think you would've liked to hear her. I tried to sing for you. You always liked my voice, too, but it seems it's not what it used to be. I just can't hit those high notes anymore. And, honestly, it was difficult to sing in certain sections. Especially in Precious Lord. That was hard... People kept telling me how well I did with your eulogy. Mom and Grandma helped pare it down, admittedly, the night before. I was fine until I got to the last paragraph... And Grandma said I made her cry twice.

Having Michael sitting behind me was a godsend. And having him to go home to, and turn to for comfort... And Kelly, Damon, and Laura arrived, too. I think you would have liked knowing the levels of support from friends and family, today.

The pastor, though I still don't like the man, made me cry a little, too. For some reason, something he said in the beginning--dressed in a white robe as he was--made me think of you standing there in a glowing white robe. Watching and grinning. And it's weird... not just knowing that you like that pastor and the church (the community is nice, I admit), but also seeing those images in my mind without believing them.

I'd like to think some of it's real. It's a nice thought. It's definitely comforting, and I see why the notion is so appealing to grieving people and those who fear what comes next. Still, it's odd to have such conflicting notions.

I dreamed about you the other night. Was it you? It halfway looked like you, and half didn't... in the way of dreams. But I knew it was you. And the first thing I said, after getting over my shock, was, "I love you." And I remember trying to decide what to ask. What is it like where you are? Are you doing well, where you are now? I can't remember what I eventually said, or your answer. Nothing like those questions, I think. Might've been trivial, might not have been. I don't know. I do know that we talked a little, but just can't remember what was said.

The luncheon was good. Tasty. Lots of commingling. You'd have liked it. Even the gathering at Mom's afterward was, albeit short, nice. I'd liked to see Kay and Rich more, but alas. It's amazing how people can be so close, in the next state, but it's still rare to visit them. Same with people just a few towns away...

It's also weird to think that, technically, both grandparents are under my roof.

And Taps still gets me, every time. There's something about a finality to that song... A coming to a close... And knowing that it was for you.

And the main thought that got me was that you're not here anymore...