My dad’s service was, as far as I’m concerned anyway, wonderful. Of course it doesn’t mean that I don’t miss my dad. I’m still having a difficult time realizing I won’t hear his voice on the phone sometime soon.
And yes, I played Let All Mortal Flesh Keep Silence. For some reason, in the third verse, the “oboe” (hah … NEVER the oboist!) meandered into a territory the oboist didn’t expect. So I had to force the oboe to behave and I whipped it into submission. Oh well. Even at my own father’s memorial I am imperfect. Can you imagine?
But I thought the service was very good. The pastor and a dear friend of ours described my father so well you’d get a good idea of what he was like from what they said. And the service glorified God. That would mean a lot to dad.
Now “real life”, I suppose, begins again. It’s difficult to imagine. But there you go.
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