ONE: Have a nice Funeral

**As fair warning, this is a very, very ridiculously long blog. I've definitely set a record. It's mainly for journaling purposes and to avoid constantly repeating the story.**

One month ago, my Dad died.

~Jean-Michel~
1954-2009
Une vie de foi, de service, de fidélité

Funny how people think that saying "passed away" makes acknowledging death out loud more appropriate and less harsh. In actuality, the reverent way it sways off their tongues is much worse.
That's what my Aunt said, "I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this...but...um... your Father passed away this morning."

Funny how I never sign my name anymore without automatically thinking about who it came from. Or how I started making sure to say "X-X-X-X-X-X, accent" every time I spell it out loud. Even though I haven't done that since 8th grade.

Funny the things strangers say in an attempt to express sympathy, because tragedy and death unite us all. Like the Enterprise Agent who signed off on my Canadian Rental and said, "Have a nice Funeral." as I walked away.
That was the first time I laughed in 4 days.
Incidentally, the Funeral was perfect.

It was early in the morning on March 24th. My Dad awoke at home in Brossard, Quebec feeling uncomfortable and like he needed to throw up, but the empty bowl my Step-Mom (Anne) provided stayed that way as the sensation subsided. He complained of being cold, but extra blankets didn't help. This lasted about 45mins, with my Dad apologizing for waking Anne and hoping she wouldn't be too tired for work in the morning. He told her he was lucky to have her as his wife and thanked her for always taking care of him. Moments later he went into Cardiac Arrest and died of a Heart Attack. CPR during the 5 minutes it took for the ambulance to arrive ("No Traffic at 4:30am!") could not revive him. It was time for his Spirit to return home.

I was in L.A. for work, and had just put the boys down for a nap after playing at a local West Hollywood park. I sat down to check emails before laying down myself.
My Inbox had one message, from my Aunt Rachel (Dad's sister-in-law), and the subject read "Call Anne or Maman [Mami, my Grandma] immediately!" The body read much the same. I knew in an instant it was my Dad, and guiltily hoped it was Papi. Papi is old, suffers from severe Alzheimer's, and we've all been preparing for him to "go". My gut knew better. If it was Papi, my Dad would have called. It never occured to me that my Dad may have died, instead I thought maybe he was sick and in the hospital. His health the past 2yrs had been concerning. The affects of chemo and radiation 24yrs ago finally catching up to him, though luckily never requiring any hospitalization.
I called home & left a message to the sound of my Dad's voice, "Hi Dad! Hi Anne! I got a message from Rachel saying to call you right away so I am. I'll try you at Mami's. I hope everything's ok."
Then I tried Rachel & Philippe (dad's brother), no answer. Then I tried Mami & Papi, and Rachel answered. By then I had the increasing feeling that something was very wrong; all of this was very out of the ordinary. My Aunt hesitated at my questions and wanted Anne or Mami to tell me, but they were still at the hospital, so she broke the news.

I have never felt a rush of so many emotions, or so many tears at once.
Sadness, Guilt, Regret, Peace, Acceptance, Uncertainty, Anger, Love, Pain, Comfort.
I was surprised at how immediate it was. A reaction I had always witnessed in movies, and often wondered if I was capable of, to break down as soon as the words hit my ears. It takes me time to fall apart, for bad news to sink in; penetrate the fortified walls I have built around myself emotionally. For me to let go enough to feel them. I've gone from "all is well" to "hysterical" twice in my life. Both times were last year, in the case of heartbreak and sibling injury. I knew 5 people who I would fall apart for in the case of injury, death, or pain in general. I didn't really know if my Dad was one of them. Turns out he was. Instantaneously.

As I sat in the living room of Bungalow 4 at the Chateau Marmont listening to the details of the morning and what was to follow that week, two re-occurring thoughts twisted around each other over and over, like threads of a rope.

1) The last thing I said to my Dad was, "I Love You".
I'm a stickler on parting with "I Love You" to all my friends and family. I know too well that life is short and unpredictable. Even though I had never experienced a close death, I'd experienced enough tragedy in other areas. I pride myself on the fact that although I have a five year failed relationship under my belt, not one single parting ever ended without "I Love You". Even if we were spewing anger we would shout "Love you, BYE!" and then hang up on each other.
My Dad called me a month prior & we talked for about 1/2 an hour while I waited to see my favorite comedian, Kathy Griffin, Live. I can still hear the hint of his french accent when he said, "I love you, Sarah." He always said my name at the end.
I wish that right after that I hadn't complained to Karine about how annoying it is to be questioned about love and money every time he called. The two most personal things to me that I wasn't ever completely comfortable discussing with him.
Now, I'd be more than willing to go over my bank statements with him and tell him about the four year old tantrum the thirty year old I dated for a month threw when I broke up with him.

2) Since the day I turned 18 my Dad has been eagerly hoping I would bring someone home. He was always asking if I'd met anyone, been on any dates, if I wanted to get married soon so I could have that whole army of kids I've always wanted, etc. It drove me nuts. Mostly because I wanted all those things and was in the middle of a relationship that was likely not going to lead to any of them, and then I wasn't in any relationship. Also, because my Dad and I were close in many simple, surface ways, but not the deeper ones. My love life (or lack there of) is easier to discuss with my Mom. I dreaded the routine questioning, and even if I had met someone I learned to keep it to myself; if/when it didn't work out that only lead to "Remember Buster, who used to collect zip ties? That sounded promising, what happened to him?!"
Annoying as it was, I knew it was because he was afraid he wouldn't be around when the day finally came for me to don a white dress. He was right. I never brought anyone home.
Once, during a rare trip my Dad made to the U.S., I planned to introduce him to the man I thought I was going to marry. That man backed out and my best friend, Kaci, stepped in. As best friends always do. My Dad didn't need a meeting to know instantly said boy wasn't the one. Although it took me four more years, he patiently waited for me to realize that, and his continual hoping and prodding for someone new never ceased.
Ironically, the sudden regret of never bringing anyone home to meet my Dad, or falling short in making it to the church on time, was immediately eased with gratitude that I didn't taint such a long awaited & special event by bringing the wrong guy home.
I'm pretty sure he's got an all access pass to poking his head into my dating life now, whether I like it or not! Great.....

After I hung up the phone I immediately called my best friend/cousin, Amaya. She was actually in SoCal as well visiting her BFF over Spring Break. We had just seen each other for lunch two days prior & I had just hung up with her fifteen minutes earlier updating her on the hospital status of my Mom. How greatly things can change in fifteen minutes.

"Guess What!?!" I half sobbed, half hysterically laughed when she answered.
"WHAT?" she replied panic ebbing in her voice. In the 24yrs we have known each other she had never heard or seen me cry. Few people have.
"My Dad DIED this morning!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" I choked out.
Silence followed that only meant her mouth had dropped open and sound had forgotten how to escape.
"....I'm so sorry. Are you ok?! What can I do?! Where are you?! I'm coming."
"Ok....love you bye."

Then came the THOUSANDS of phone calls and arrangements.
This is why roll-over minutes were invented and why AT&T has my endless devotion.
In case you were wondering, the boys were still sleeping.
Amaya kindly took some notifications upon herself, calling people I couldn't or wouldn't, and I did the rest.
Family, best friends, roommates, everyone else. Luckily modern day technology made it easier for me, and after personally telling those closest I posted a mass notification on whatever social networking board I needed to.
That was the worst part, telling people. In an odd way, it felt like bragging.
Like saying "Pay attention to me. Feel sorry for me". It was nothing but the opposite, and I've discovered attention won't stop for awhile.
I knew people had to know and would want to know, but that didn't make it any easier.

First and foremost I was still dealing with my Mom.
One parental disaster at a time.
I notified her Doctors and Counselors, who felt it would be best if I told her in person.
Hyatt (the boy's Mom) came home about an hour after I found out, took one look at me and couldn't hug me fast enough. Since nothing trumps "My Mom's in a mental institution and my Dad just died", she easily gave me the rest of the day off.
Probably would've given me the rest of my life off if that was in her power.

Amaya and her best friend, Melissa, showed up a few hours later as I was in the middle of booking & changing flights, packing, and masking anything out of the ordinary while talking to my Mom throughout the day and dealing with her latest demons.
Those acting classes I took four years ago? Totally worth it.

As if there wasn't already enough going on, Amaya didn't have a current Passport.
This presented a problem since she had booked her ticket to Montreal, Canada before I had even looked at flights. She was by my side without a second thought. That's what best friends do.
A tiny blue book was not going to keep her from leaving the country--even if she had to wait at the border while I video conferenced her in!
My other best friend, Karley, was also there for me. Looking up flights, calling me round the clock, crying with me, and doing everything she could from NYC and planning to be with me in Montreal if Amaya couldn't. I've never seen her be so attached to her phone. If you knew Karley, you would know why that's so touching. She HATES phones. I have a theory she looses them and lets the battery die on purpose. I know for a fact she leaves her voicemail full so people will stop leaving them. The three of us divided and concurred. Each taking a part of the stress and tragedy, and kicking death's disasterous butt!

Amaya had all the needed paperwork over-nighted to her, made an appointment at the L.A. Passport office for an Emergency Passport to be issued, and prepared to stage a coup if they didn't give it to her within 24hrs. Lucky for them, they did.

Karley was on top rental car reservations, getting my passport to me if roomie Sara couldn't (it was in NYC), and the annoying but comforting emotional status check-ins every few hours. She also kept it real, didn't sugar coat or baby me and called it how it was.
"I know this might not be the right time, but this will make for a REALLY good chapter in your book. I mean, honey, YOU CAN'T MAKE UP THIS STUFF!"
Indeed, it writes itself.

I handled everything else while being force fed and put to bed under watchful and bribing eyes. A lot of candy bars were involved. Thankfully, I've never had trouble sleeping. I love to sleep, succumb to exhaustion easily, and my body/mind welcomed the simple escape.

I flew to Sacramento, CA. the next day (Weds) and my close friend Taylor picked me up from the airport. I hate that airport. Mostly I hate the escalators because there used to be a special someone waiting at the end of them. This time, I could've cared less and was surprised at the new perspective death was already giving me of who and what is important.

The love and support that had poured out from everyone I've ever known, close friend or acquaintance, was intensely overwhelming. I got the sweetest email from a girl I haven't seen or spoken to since I was young, received phone calls and texts from ALL of the neighbors in my building within three hours, Kaci (the truest Best Friend I've ever had) offered to drive down from OR and take care of my Mom, & I was getting phone calls from the people I grew up with in Canada who I didn't even know had my phone number! Those meant the most to me, because they had actually known my Dad and he would've been deeply touched by their sympathy.

The one person I didn't know if I'd hear from was the one person I never expected to doubt and now only did. I didn't expect to hear from him, knew he wouldn't be there for me, and for the first time in my life, the hardest time in my life, I didn't care or need him to be. It was sad and precious to finally be at that place, at the end of that escalator. In his defense, I did hear from him. I think it meant more to those who held out hope that he would always come through, than it did to me; but it did mean a lot to me nonetheless. For the record, he's not a bad guy. He's actually a wonderful guy. He's just not my guy. And no matter how hard or long I love him or wish on a million stars, I learned the hardest of hard ways that nothing will change that. What changed was it took my Dad dying to get through to me to let go.

My Mom was at a new facility this time in Sacramento. Previously she's been in Concord, about an hour and a half away from home. This time she was 45 minutes away which made things much easier.

The one thing I can say about this whole ordeal is it was perfectly timed and set up. God shapes your back to fit all the things he needs you to carry and he certainly tried to bend mine as less as possible through this. I was already in CA, could tell and mourn with my Mom in person, and set everything in place for her care. Not to mention that work was easy to leave because we were all on vacation and Josh & Hyatt didn't have to find someone last minute for the kids. I am financially stable and didn't even think about how much this would all cost, in the middle of a recession. In regards to my Dad, he had just finished a session of teaching beginning French, and was on his 2 week break. He was in the comforts of his home, he spent his last moments with the love of his life, and went quickly and peacefully. My step-sister, "little" Anne, who he raised from the time she was around 12 (along with her 3 other siblings), just had her second baby (and seventh Grandchild) Sunday evening. A boy named Leandre. My Dad got to meet all his Grandchildren, and they knew and loved him very much. Except mine. I firmly believe he's hanging out with them until they're ready to brave this big wide world, and the slightly unhinged Mother they'll have. While he didn't get to meet my future-husband, he gets to meet my kids before anyone else, and I wouldn't have it any other way. His affairs were in order, and he lived a righteous life. Which he wouldn't have any other way.

Wednesday afternoon I went to see my Mom, who wasn't expecting me until Saturday. I met her in the lock down lobby. She was pretty confused considering her Doctor had accidentally asked her how she felt about my Dad dying (2hrs before I got there). He back tracked, and she gave him her devil-stare down of "you-really-have-no-idea-what-you're-doing-do-you?" and luckily let it slide thinking maybe he just had his patients confused. When I showed up, that all changed.

"What are you doing here?" She asked skeptically.
"Well, I got some extra time off work and thought I'd come see you....I wanted to let you know....that my Dad died."
And I finally let the tears return for the first time since I hung up the phone with Rachel 24hrs prior.

It's rare that I get "Mommy-Moments". Yet in her current state, somewhere inside, my Mom repressed the illness that so often complicates things and was 100% in the present with me. A real Mom. To laugh, to cry, to blow snot all over generic tissue you could see through while sitting on squeaky leather couches. To reminisce with me and comfort me, not the other way around. To let me be a child instead of an adult. To reassure me that we would see him again, which I never doubted for one second, and to mourn the time we I would have to spend without him. All the while the nurses kept their heads down and likely had a sedation shot ready.

When I finally went home to my Mom's house, Wednesday night, I wanted to keep busy and focused. I don't sit still well in general, so I over multi-task as a coping mechanism when I really have my plate full. I also wanted to be alone to process, to cry it all out, to feel the weight of everything.

I had spoken to Rachel again and arrangements had been made.
There would be 2 viewings, followed by the funeral, burial, and reception over the course of Friday and Saturday.
The program was being printed, and I would be speaking.
I had no idea what to say. I had nothing to say and everything to say.
My relationship with my Dad wasn't as close as he (or I) wished it had been, but it was closer than it ever was. As close as I was comfortable letting it be. Even though I wished I could let it be more, it was very difficult for me to do so. I wish I had done better. I grew up seeing him once a year until I was 15 and then I suddenly saw him every day when I moved in with him. It was the hardest, best thing that ever happened to me. To us. It changed my life. It saved my life.

I gave him hell only a teenager like me could, and he flowed with the ebs and never gave up on me. He put me in my place when I got out of line, and led with a firm but gentle hand. He set rules and boundaries amid an exhaustible amount of freedom and trust. For the first time in my life I had parents and wasn't allowed to be one. Teenage worries only, leave the rest at the door.

My house was the one everyone wanted to be at, and he was the Dad that wanted them all there. I always had him wrapped around my fingers, but he wasn't afraid to bend them back now and then and let me know who was boss. He taught me how to play chess and ping pong and 'les boules'. How to speak french, how to drive, how to live honestly and righteously by knowing who you are and not caring what people think. He gave me my first journal when I was 8 or 9, seeing the writer in me. He bought me my first skateboard, and instructed me to "stop picking" at the long scab I earned from it; now a faded scar on my knee. He took me swimming any time I asked, even though he self conciously felt the stares of strangers because his body was deformed and he was completely bald from prior Leukemia. He loved Pecan Pralines, watching Back to the Future, and trying to do cartwheels with me. He taught me how to treat and respect your spouse. He instilled in me the importance of family prayer every night, and made sure I always ate breakfast, even if he had to hide it in my backpack with a threatening note. We had a standing Father-Daughter date at the movies at least once a month and every time I came home to visit. We would take zip lock bags of homemade cookies and mini-water bottles of juice.
My favorite thing about him was his laugh and sense of humor, and I proudly inherited it. He was always trying to be a good father, husband, & provider. He honored those duties above all else and was the poster child for "Family First" with complete devotion. He consistently set an example of living worthily to return to Heavenly Father, and made sure that I knew of his deep love and testimony for the Gospel of Jesus Christ.

We were the family that fed the missionaries once a month. He was the Dad who hoped one of them would come back for me and sweep me off my feet! ;) He loved me unconditionally, infinitely, and openly. He never let me doubt it or forget it. Even when I didn't want it. Even when he wasn't sure he was doing it right.
He loved Anne more than I can say, but as much as I could see. They were that cute couple who stared lovingly into each others eyes, sat in the same pew every Sunday for 20 yrs, read scriptures together every morning, and took showers together even if their 16yr old daughter was trying to study at the kitchen table across from said bathroom.
We never had deep conversations or sat down to pour our hearts out to each other, but we knew we loved each other. At least I hope he knew. My biggest fear when he died was that I wasn't a good enough daughter. That I didn't let him know enough how much I loved him or how well he'd done. That I hadn't realized it until too late. That I was one of those people I try so hard not to be. The kind who takes others for granted. I'm really good at saying thank you and letting people know I appreciate them, but when it came to my Dad, and the walls I had, I wasn't so good at it. I hope the amount I let him in and the relationship we had been fortunate to build was enough. I hope I didn't let him down by only being able to give so much. I hope I made him proud. I hope that last I Love You stuck as much as I meant it to.

Second to teaching me the Gospel, the greatest thing he gave me were letters. I literally have HUNDREDS upon HUNDREDS of letters from my Dad from the time I was four, until last month. Most of them are in plastic binder sheets, some are still in boxes, and others are with me here in NYC. Each of them is different. Some are updates, some are advice, some are setting me straight on poor behavior. EVERY SINGLE ONE re-assures me how loved I am. How proud he is of me. How blessed he feels to be my Father, and that it was ok for me to be his daughter. I guess growing up too fast, in a single parent home that was more of a 1/2 parent home, made it difficult for me to be just "a daughter". He saw that when I didn't. He saw a lot of things I didn't or wouldn't give him credit for. Although he may not have completely understood, he patiently tried to understand me and help me find the little girl I once was. These letters helped me do so. They are priceless and deeply treasured.

I sat in my room, Wednesday night, and decided to go through some boxes and figure out what to say. I opened a folder of papers, one of which was my friend's 19yr old brother's testimony of the Church. It was copied out of his journal and included in the program of his unexpected funeral last year. When I saw it, I had a strong & distinct impression that above anything else, my Dad would want his testimony shared. I thought it was unfortunate that I didn't have it written down, but decided I would do my best to share it as I knew it.
Two minutes later, I lifted the lid to a random box of letters.
On the top was a letter my Dad wrote to me January 7, 2003 accompanying a New Years gift.
It was his Testimony.
Tears gushed, and sobs heaved, as I read the following and felt him with me for the first time since he'd left:

Dear Sarah,
I know you like writing in your journal, so I decided to offer you this diary to write you feelings and thoughts in 2003.

I also want to bear you my testimony of the Book of Mormon that I read again with Anne now, have read it several times. The first time, I was fourteen years old and prayed several days until I received a confirmation of the divine truth. It overwhelmed me as if someone was behind me to protect me and comfort me. When I got up, after having been kneeling by my bed, I felt good inside, like when you feel loved. After, I had many experiences to grow my testimony that the foundation and the principles of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints are true, and by following our Prophet and leaders' guidance and counsels we can learn to perfect and improve ourselves. I also know that it is important to strengthen family bonds because it is our eternal heritage.

I pray that the Lord will bless you and protect you and that you will search is guidance for righteous choices.

With all my love,
Dad

The next morning (Thurs.) Aunt Rachel called.
"Anne finished the program last night, and she'd like you to share your Dad's Testimony." she said.
Half awake, I smiled and simply replied, "Yeah, I know."

I wrapped things up in CA, found the perfect black dress, and made arrangements to meet Amaya in San Francisco to take our Red-Eye flight at 5am Friday morning. We would get in just in time to shower, change, and go straight to the viewing. My friend Derek lives in San Francisco, 20 minutes from the airport, and kindly let me crash with him. By this point I was low on sleep and high on stress and adrenaline so I rested quietly in the un-questioning but ever caring comfort his arms provided.

When I pulled up in front of my house, it felt empty before I even went in. The grass leaned differently, the paint looked more dull. The cars in the driveway didn't belong. Amaya was the first person (from my U.S. life) I was bringing home to meet my family. I know my Dad would have loved to have met her, but also been disappointed she wasn't marriage material. My step-brother & sister-in-law were there, along with a man I didn't know (or even acknowledge in the fluster) and my Step-Mom was the natural image of put together. Calm, cool, collected. A force to be reconned with. Rock solid always. Even in the face of her husband's death. I hugged her tightly, the American way, double kissed her sweetly, the French way. Then I jumped in the shower and got ready, the rushed way, avoiding the pain of not being welcomed home by my Dad.

The viewing was exhausting.
I've never spoken so much french in such a short span of time, or repeated myself so often. I felt like a record on repeat or singing a song in a round that never ended.
"I'm so sorry for your loss."
"Your Dad was a wonderful man. He was so proud of you, always talking about you, and loved you so much!"
"You're beautiful! You look just like him!"
"Let me know if there's anything I can do."
There are only so many ways to say Merci.

Then there were the extended questions & deeper conversations that centered around the same thing (me and how proud he was) and were repeated non-stop. In between I would try to join up with Amaya to translate (she doesn't speak french), or point her in the direction of people who spoke English (most can get by, but some more than others). She would circle past me now and then, keeping a watchful eye just in case I needed her. She held her own and memorized her schpeel in response to, "Who are you?!" The french are nothing but blunt. Have you met me?

I never cried. In fact I laughed a lot and had a good time. It was like a reunion, only with flowers and a casket. Friends I hadn't seen in a long time, family I hadn't been around since October, & a new nephew not even a week old. All brought together by my Dad, to honor and remember him. Strangely, it wasn't weird or sad to see his body. It was him, but not. I thought I'd feel his presence, but he skipped out on the whole night. It was just an old shell that housed his young & vibrant spirit, and we were thanking it for lasting this long more than mourning the fact that it finally gave out.

At the end of the night, Anne, Amaya, and I were wiped out & established an unspoken rule of not speaking. Anne made tea and headed for bed. I stopped her and said, "Est-ce qu on va fait la prier?" (Should we say the prayer?) The sentence I had grown accustomed to hearing at bedtime for the past 9yrs.
Her carefully maintained guard dropped and she engulfed me in a hug exclaiming, "Oh! I'm so glad you asked me!" Although she is a Mom, she's not my Mom. Although she helped raise me, she would never cross that boundary, and with my Dad gone feels it is not her place to parent me as much, I think. However, with my Dad gone we are both left to carry on the lessons and traditions he taught us, and that is one that will always remain.

We entered their bedroom, tearing up immediately. This was where we had gathered as a family routinely, and this was also where he died a few days before. She still hadn't changed the sheets. His dresser & nightstand stood untouched. A picture of me displayed proudly, along with a tiny "World's Greatest Dad" trophy I sent him one Father's Day as a child. Love letters from Anne rested in the bedside drawer, nail clippers and his pocket watch in the dish on top. The Spirit was so strong as we knelt alongside the bed and felt his undeniable absence and spiritual presence. I have never felt so close to Anne, or had my grief so understood. And vice versa.

Saturday was hard, of course.
The second viewing was the best. He showed up for that one. It was mostly family, and for the first hour or so it was just me, my Dad, and Anne. Our last time as just the 3 of us. It was touching to watch as she approached the casket, touched his hand, and whispered in his ear. I know he was listening.

As I mentioned earlier in this painfully long rendition, Papi (my Dad's Dad) has Alzheimer's. He's been at the functioning level of a Kindergartener for over a year now and doesn't know any of us for more than a minute, if at all. This is hardest on Mami, who still cares for him at home and argues with him daily that she is his wife.
With the given events and obvious devastation to Mami, she was gone a lot and family and friends rotated staying home with Papi. He wouldn't be attending the funeral and hadn't come to the viewings. That morning, he told her wanted to see the body. It was decided he should come for a few minutes to say whatever Goodbye he could and at least see that my Dad had died, even if only to forget moments later. He was wheeled in, and utter silence filled the room. The guests who were present unanimously retreated towards the back of the room as we all gathered together in front of the casket. Mami, Papi, Me, Anne, Uncle Philippe, & Aunt Eve--on leave from serving the Red Cross in Afghanastan--(Dad's siblings--minus Nelly who had to stay in France but came out a few weeks later).
In a simple minute the vibe of the entire room changed and the debilitation of Papi's Alzheimer's was lifted. We could see in his eyes the recognition. We could see a Father gazing upon his Son. We watched as tears streaked his cheeks and ragged breath ushered from his lips. And we all LOST it. It was the most beautiful moment I have ever had with my family. For 5 sweet minutes we stood and cried, mourning together, completely aware that this would be our last moment together in this life.
Just as soon as it had come, it left.
Papi's eyes grew distant and he uttered he wanted to go home.

It was all downhill from there.
I'm now an official advocate for Wet & Wild eyeliner and Maybeline Mascara (I certainly wasn't 'born with it'!) which wasn't even waterproof. My make-up never ran or smudged once and I cried a lot!

Closing the casket made time suddenly speed up. Once it was shut it felt like the funeral and burial couldn't get to us fast enough, no matter how much we stalled. My family asked me to choose a flower from any of the arrangements and place it inside with my Dad. I chose a huge, blooming, yellow long stemmed rose and laid it against his chest, under his hands. We said a prayer, and each took a moment alone. I kissed his cheek and whispered goodbye, and then the lid came down.

Straight out of the movies, he was loaded into the hearse and a procession of at least 10 cars followed behind at a snails pace from the Funeral Home to the church I grew up in. The sun was out and it was a perfect Spring Day, rarely glimpsed so early in the season. We walked in a line, two by two, behind the casket and sat in the front rows (where we always sit on Sunday's, too). My Uncle Philippe spoke first and it was a free for all of tears before he could even get up to the pulpit. Once there he went through my Dad's life with delicate precision and I went through mounds of Kleenex the same. Rachel played a piano solo. I delivered my part in french, then read his letter in English as it was written. Aunt Eve, Anne (with a composure and grace I don't know how she managed), a family friend, and then it was done. Simple. Beautiful.

Again with the snails pace procession from the Church to the Cemetery in Longueuil (about 20 minutes from my house). Anne chose the perfect spot underneath a large oak tree in the middle of the Cemetery and in front of bushes that will bloom beautifully through Fall. She was pretty stoked that she'd gotten a discount, buying up four plots together--one for my Dad, herself, and my Grandparents. We had decided we wouldn't hang around for the bulldozers and dirt piles, and instead said a last farewell with a short prayer and a few pictures. There were no more tears. It was peaceful and calm. He was being laid to rest, and deserved to do so.
The reception followed back at the Church, and the peace and calm from the Cemetery remained settled over my family. I played with my 5 month old cousin, William, and almost week old nephew, Leandre (born two days before my Dad died). The 4yr old daughter of close family friends (and youngest of 6 kids) took me under her over-protective wing and chastised me for talking with my mouth full and not eating my salad. I hate salad. She marched me over to the table, instructed me to pile some on, and watched with hands on her hips as I obediently consumed it. She and her Mom made my day. The food was delicious, the punch was extraordinary. None of us had eaten in at least 72hrs and I had about three plates full!

And then it was over.
Our time and energy was no longer centered around this event. His life was finished, and we had to continue with ours. I decided to remember him the best way I knew how, so I taught Amaya the real way to play Ping Pong, followed by a movie at the Guzzo.

Later, I went through photo albums and possessions and took what I wanted.
His office (once my bedroom) remained untouched. His white board for private tutoring still bearing a sketch I drew during my last visit, of a girl standing near some flowers with a bubble that read "Bonne Journeé!" (Have a good day). On his table stood a Lego built house and barn he recently spent hours slaving over after Mami found the childhood toys in storage and gave them back to him. Every color matched, every piece connected impeccably, every horse and cow grazing quietly. Anne told me she'll never take it apart, and I'm glad.

I took his favorite ties, which I had given him one year for Father's Day and he ALWAYS wore when I came to visit or for special events. He has one on in the Memorial Picture chosen. They were his pride and joy because I was his pride and joy. I hope I find someone as great as he was to wear them. I took his missionary tag from 2yrs sharing the Gospel in France. His pocket watch with a picture of the twin towers and my City etched on the front--Sarah inspired--and the bedside dish that held it. The tiny "Best Dad" trophy next to my high school picture, and pictures from childhood.

Sunday I went to church for an hour and then Amaya and I drove to the airport. I had never been so happy to go home in my life. Two weeks felt like a lifetime, and it was a completely different one for me now. Unfortunately, the weather had other plans and canceled my flight. Amaya's left on time back to CA and I re-rented my rental car and drove to Mami's house. Frustrated as I was, and just wanting the simple comforts of my own bed, I was grateful because I'd get to have Sunday dinner (another tradition) with my family and I knew they'd be thrilled. They were, and shocked. As if to re-assure me this was meant to be, home made Lasagna and Brownies were unexpectedly delivered to Mami's house as we snacked on left overs from the reception. It was from the Chloi family (Mom of 6, including of 4yr old Rebecca Chloi who had micro-managed me at the reception). What made this so special is that Lasagna is my favorite food, and every time I come home my Dad makes it from scratch and we bring it to Mami's house for family dinner. Mrs. Chloi had no idea.

I spent hours on the floor with cousin William, and flaberghasted the family with baby pictures I brought in which he and I look like twins. Those Lemble´genes are powerful!

We reminisced about my Dad and read condolence letters and emails. It had been an exceptionally hard day for Anne, the reality finally catching up to her now that there was nothing more she could do to occupy herself with him. The tears flowed more freely, and her knees wobbled feebly.

Dinner was noticeably different without my Dad's jokes and laughter filling the table, but delicious nonetheless. Afterwards, Anne brought out love letters they had exchanged over the years (that were in his bedside drawer) and read them aloud. We're a very open family. VERY. Even so, there were some things in those letters I probably could've gone without knowing. ;) The last letter was actually a card from Anne for their 10th Anniversary. When she got to the last line she could barely choke out the few words that read, "I love you so much! I'm so excited to see where we will be on our 20th Anniversary!"
It would have been 20yrs this August. They were planning a trip and vow renewal. My niece's dress, hand made by Anne (who is a seamstress by profession), was hanging finished in our living room. She crumbled, and by then we were all strong enough to hold her. She said he was the best husband, perfect, and she didn't have a single complaint. I know she meant it, because she, of anyone I know, tells it how it is! I know he felt the same way about her, and I know that when she goes to join him it will be a sweet (and likely very inappropriate) reunion. ;)

I've found peace and solace in knowing I will see him again. I also feel a natural sadness knowing I will miss his physical presence at important events and moments I still have left, and many other feelings that accompany the loss of a parent.

I'm thankful for the Atonement. For the knowledge I have that I am a daughter of God, born to goodly parents who love me, and I love them. For Temples and the sacred ordinances performed there in. There is an un-matched joy in knowing that if I live righteously and follow the example of my Dad I can be with him and the rest of my family Forever! :) :) :) :) :)
The whole event was smoothly balanced with sarcasm, laughter, tears, and love.
It was exactly how he would've wanted it.
We had a nice funeral, all things considered.

And then shall it come to pass, that the spirits of those who are righteous are received into a state of happiness, which is called paradise, a state of rest, a state of peace, where they shall rest from all their troubles and from all care, and sorrow.
ALMA 40:12
The Book of Mormon
Another Testament of Jesus Christ