Funeral favors

Not as in do me a favor but as in a goodie bag like you get at a birthday party. They really sell those. What will I have in mine? Silly string, Silly putty, Silly straws.. Maybe a deck of cards with my face on them and the here to there date. Those foil wrapped chocolate coins! There is so much to think of. I certainly hope it's not for a long time - but you still have to give it some thought. Pre-planning is the civilized name. When I go I am not going to tell you not to cry. I won't tell you not to be sad. I've had losses. It hurts. It hurts so much you feel like you can't go on. You wake up in the morning and it's the first thing you think of. Throughout the day as well. At night while waiting to go to sleep you'll cry wishing you could bring them back. Memories are good at a later point but for now you just want to hug that person and tell them how much you love them. Every memory brings pain. Even to look at something as insignificant as a cup will bring you to tears.Healing time passes so slowly. You think, "he was here last week." You read or hear things and think, "I have to tell dad that." But dad isn't here. It's like you hit a wall. Well, who do I tell? You can't tell someone else because it's not the same. You wouldn't get the same feeling or the same reaction from someone else. So, you don't tell anyone or you can say it like you were talking to them. It works for me. At some point you will be crying from a memory and it will turn to laughter. "Poor dad. It's too bad he had to fall out of his van. He always has to endure the awfullest things. What a guy." Then you'll start thinking of him lying on the ground and wondering what was he doing there or how he got there. THEN you find out your mother did it. This is where you start laughing. Good times. I don't want time to pass by any faster than it has to but I wish the pain time would speed by. It's been three weeks and one day. I sit on my swing and I think and I think about how strange it is that dad was here and now he's not. I also think of our little containers. We walk around in them for years, carrying who we are. Then one day your container isn't usable anymore. It's broke and you can't fix it. No repair shop for the big jobs. So you leave your container for something else. Another container? No one really knows for sure what happens. People with a religious faith know. Maybe that's a good thing. At least they don't have to give it any thought about what happens. There is a funeral poem that goes, Do not stand at my grave and weep. I am not there I do not sleep. Go ahead. I say do whatever makes you feel better. That's what I am doing.