The day after the funeral I missed Palm Sunday mass because we were trying to get some housework done, but I did go to church to teach PSR (Parish School of Religion), which I didn’t even have to teach because some reliquary guy was there talking to the kids about the relics he brought for us to look at. He appeared to be 120 years old, so I assume he was there when the relics were found. My daughter asked me how we knew the relics were legitimate and I told her I was sure they were vetted by the Vatican. I didn’t say, “this guy probably collected them himself in real time.” Toward the end, he had us go up as classes and walk through the relics. He asked our class (6th grade) who the teacher was and I said I was. Later, as I was leaving, he came up to me, put his hand on my shoulder and said, “Thank you young lady for taking the time to teach these kids.” I just said, “Oh, it’s no big deal. I love it,” but I was thinking, “I have four kids in this room. I might as well be here.” I didn’t see him talking to any of the other teachers like that, so I guess the remnants of waterproof mascara must’ve made me look like a child. 

After church, some friends stopped by briefly before heading off. They had come down to support me through the funeral festivities and I was sending one of them home with a set of bunk beds. After they left, I had every intention of taking a nap, but I couldn’t get my mind to settle. My mother called and said she wanted to go back to the cemetery and see what it looked like now that my father was buried. I told her I would meet her there. I live closer to the cemetery than she does, but I started getting ready when she said she was leaving her house because I figured I would need to get the kids dressed and strapped into the car. None of the kids ended up wanting to go though. I think they were all worn out from the funeral festivities. So, I just left and headed to the cemetery alone.

I got there about fifteen minutes before my mother. We haven’t ordered the headstone yet, so there is a temporary marker and there were some flowers on top of the dirt where his vault is buried. I sat in front of the temporary marker and sobbed for about fifteen minutes. I started to pray the rosary once I got myself together, but then my mother showed up and I started visiting with her. We looked at some neighboring headstones, thinking about possible ideas for my father’s headstone, though I think her and I both like the one that had a deer etched in it. He and my mother will share a headstone. I think my mother is trying to decide if she wants one that she can fit more writing than just the birth dates and death dates. I don’t even know what to say. I don’t think either of my parents could be summed up in one sentence. 

I had to stay up late Sunday night working. I had hearings scheduled Monday morning, but I slept so little and so poorly that I couldn’t bring myself to get out of bed. I think the weeks of not sleeping well finally really caught up with me. So, I let myself sleep until 8:00am, did one hearing by phone, got someone to cover another hearing, and then went to a couple client meetings and a court appearance in person later in the day. It was a beautiful day, so I sat outside and watched my daughter’s soccer practice that evening.

Tuesday (yesterday) morning, I had to leave the house at 5:30am because I was going with one of the public administrators and her deputy to the state capitol for a lobbying day for the public administrators. I had never been to the state capitol before, so I really enjoyed it. I had great food, got to see the state house debate a few issues, got to see the senate vote on a few things, and got to meet a few of the representatives and senators who represent our part of the state. My client and I even got introduced on the house floor by the representative from the area where I will eventually be buying land. They let me peak into St. Peter’s Cathedral and drove me past the governor’s mansion on the way home. It was a really cool experience. 

I once again, did not sleep good last night, but this time it was more work stress than thoughts of my father. I was feeling so much stress about how far behind I am at work after taking so much time off lately. There were two clients specifically that I was really worried about. I talked to both of them this morning and they were both so sweet and acted like they were not worried at all about how long their projects were taking me. They both knew my father, so I’m sure that helps. It was a huge relief though, so hopefully I will sleep good tonight.

The issue of today though, was that I had to file something in a case that my father had originated so when I filed my available dates it popped up that my father would be receiving an enotice. That felt like a gut-punch. So, I told myself I needed to make that stop because that case is far from over and I’m sure many filings remain. So, I drafted a motion to withdraw attorney, asking the Court to remove my father as attorney of record for the defendants due to him departing this life on March 22nd. I cried as I was drafting that motion. Then, my mother, who is one of my legal assistants, walked in on me crying as I was drafting that motion. She told me she’s still crying a lot and keeps having moments where she thinks about things she wants to tell my father.

I signed up for a grief share group in a neighboring town that starts May 1st. It is thirteen sessions and they meet once per week on Mondays. It was recommended by a friend. I hope it will be helpful. I told someone I was thinking about starting to schedule Sunday Sob Sessions, where I go visit my father’s grave and get the crying out, so that I don’t cry during the week. This week it didn’t work out that way, but maybe next week will work out better. 

It’s Holy Week, which I always love, but this year it seems like a lot of reminders of the “firsts” without my father. This will be the first Easter without him. Then it will be my son’s First Communion next month, which will be the first sacrament for one of my children that my father won’t attend. This will be a whole year of those “firsts.”

I was talking to my cousin a couple days ago. She’s also going through a really tough time in her life. She made a comment about us coming closer to Jesus in our suffering. I told her Jesus was crucified when he was thirty-three, so it seems sort of poetic that we would be facing the hardest times of our lives at age thirty-three.