Waiting to exhale

There comes a moment when you just have to exhale. To let your body release the breath that it is desperately holding in, believing that if it stays put the world will not be changed and realize that letting it go will not change the reality but give the new breath a chance to make things better.

Today we exhale...

The past few days have been a blur. Within 24 hours of the phone call saying the words no one truly expected or wanted to hear, we were all either home or on route. We gathered at Nan and Pop's house for dinner and told stories about Pop and talked about the coming days and what to expect. We had one day of visitation before the funeral and a day in between before the burial.

Pop sent us all the signs that he had arrived. Mom had asked him to send sunshine when he arrived in heaven. On Saturday we had sun...the first sun that Corner Brook had seen in awhile. Today it rained. According to my Mom that was a sign that he was at peace. Well he certainly must be at peace because it poured while we were at the cemetery this morning.

The funeral was a perfect tribute to him. The readings were perfectly fitted and as I read the words "I have fought the good fight. I have finished the race" I couldn't help but choke up knowing that Pop lived life to the fullest and never gave up. He lived his life with no regrets and thanked God each and every day for his blessings. Pop was a man with a solid, strong faith that guided his life. He was an exceptional man and I certainly hope that I do him proud.

After the burial, we gathered at my parent's home before people started to say their goodbyes and return to their "normal" lives. I don't feel like that is the right word. New normal might be better. Pop was the head of my mom's family. He was the calm in the storm, the rock when strength was called on. He guided his children and he took so much joy in his grandchildren and great-grandchildren. I know that he was pleased that we were all here.

Erin is missing but we have lots of pictures proving she was here.



I will never forget our weekends at the cabin, our visits and outings or the way that he lit up when he held my children. I hope that I can keep his memory alive for them.