Life is returning to normal, slowly but surely, though without my dad it won't ever be the same. In my day to day thoughts, it's been good to think of my dad, to remember, to talk about "Bumpa" with the kids, to reread Valentine cards with my husband that my dad filled with his wisdom. He pops up everwhere and will live on bigger than life.

We are keeping close contact with my mom, who is experiencing her truest grief. Time will give her relief from that, but for now, I'm hoping she's collapsing in moaning cries every time she needs to, allowing the sadness she can bear to sit there with her for awhile.

I feel like I've been grieving this ever since it began. Now that my dad is gone, the grieving that is left to do seems to be hiding out a little, lurking in the shadows. I'll take my cue from it. Mostly I felt grumpy about it all. It was too soon. It was something none of us could stop from happening. My dad is gone!

Our celebration of life for him brought some catharsis. My brothers and I each stood and spoke about him and then did an amazing slide show and opened it up for others to talk about him. There were many many flower arrangements and people who represented him from high school to Rotary to work. My mom closed it all out with a sweet poem she pulled from her handkerchief. We've all been to funerals where the person who speaks does their best, but mispronounces names, or acts like they knew the person when they really didn't. My dad would not have wanted that, so I think the way his memorial went would have pleased him.

Freshly buoyed by the support of everyone, we go forward, wearing a strange new vest made of bewilderment, putting on socks woven with threads that seem missing, stepping into rooms a little emptier.

Yet all the while we remember.