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Long after the funeral ends...

A year ago today I got my six year old son and four year old daughter ready for the day. I took out their clothes just like every other day. But the day was unlike every other day. A year ago today I got in my car and drove to church just like I had done every Wednesday and Sunday for a number of years. But it wasn't Wednesday. And it wasn't Sunday. And I wasn't driving to a regular church service. I was driving to my husband's funeral. He wasn't 80. He hadn't lived a long life. I wouldn't have 50 years of memories to share about him from the pulpit. He was 31.
When the funeral ends, life goes on for most people who attended it. And it should. But for those most intimately connected to the deceased, life doesn't go on. Life stops. Life changes. Life hurts in a way that is indescribable.  After the funeral ends when everyone is gone and when the numbness starts to wear off that is when the pain stings. That is when the reality sets in. And day 30 may …

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