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Various and Sundry

I picked a really bad time to quit the sauce, don't you agree? Had I known in advance I probably would have delayed quitting by a good month, or year or never. Today on the way home from making the funeral arrangements, Eric and I reasoned together that falling off the wagon in this case would probably be okay.

I decided that I wasn't going to fall off the wagon after only 3 days.

It just really sounds good right now, a tall icy glass of Dr Pepper. Ahhhhh.

The funeral arrangements are all set. Saturday January 31 at 10:30 at the LDS Troy Building followed by a lunch at 12:00 pm at Kim's for family and close friends. If you are so inclined, instead of flowers please send a donation to the American Cancer Society in memory of Sam. If you desire memorial information for the donation you can email me at jtedst at yahoo dot com.

Everyone wants to know how we are doing. (It's the most common question behind "Was he ill" and "How old was he": yes and 72.) We're doing ok, coping day by day and hour by hour. We have really up moments where we laugh and smile and almost forget. Then we crash together and cry and curse the world for it's unfairness. There are many things that make us feel better. Like kind friends who bake bread with Carly. Like hanging Poppa's hat up on a hook in his bedroom. Like quilts made with loving hands by my sister. Like music. Like Josh's worried, sweet face. Like going through Poppa's underwear drawer (I know how weird that sounds but trust me on it.) There are things that make us feel worse. Like coffee pots. Like random mail for Dad. Like Dad's favorite foods. Like looking through pictures. Funny enough, the things that make us feel bad often make us feel good. And the things that make us feel good sometimes make us feel bad too.

Grief doesn't make any sense. It would be easier if there was a set time frame, because then we would know when it will be over. It's only been 1 day. And it feels like an eternity. But it also feels like it hasn't happened and can't be real. I keep having little moments of disconnect. For example, I was thinking about the next time we move and needing a bathroom downstairs and then I realized that we don't anymore.

We don't anymore.

And that's how we are.


Grief is something that never completely "goes away."

Just this past Christmas, I was going over the menu in my mind and asked my mom, "Grandpa's bringing the Caesar salad, right?" only to remember he's been gone two years. As if I could forget.

And the grieving started all over again.

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