He asked me numerous questions about my church, calling hours, funeral service, burial, cremation, open/closed casket, obituary details and on and on. Since Rick was so young and because our families were so big, Chris felt we were likely to have hundreds of people at the services. The largest room in the funeral home couldn't handle the masses of people. He suggested that we hold the calling hours at my church 1-3 and 4-6, leave the body in the chapel at the church over night and then have the funeral the next day. Everything sounded fine to me, surreal but fine.
I was spent. We drove back to my house. There were more people and more food; I just sat on the couch in a comatose state and watched everyone go by, like I was watching from outside of my body. I was longing for my mother. Why is that no matter how old I get, when the chips are down, I still want my mother? I guess just the thought of my mom conjures feelings of safety, warmth and comfort.
It was a day well spent. I knew in my heart that this was going to be a celebration of Rick’s life, not the dirge of death. I wanted people to remember all the wonderful things that made Rick the special man he was. If I could have had a party, I would have. I would have preferred music, food and dancing. I guess that’s the Irish in me. Yes, I was sad, but I wanted to celebrate Rick. I believed he was in heaven and that was something to rejoice in, regardless of how much my heart ached.