The Aftermath, Part 1: The Surreal Whirlwind

Thanksgiving day 2012, I was sitting in a funeral home planning out my husband's Memorial Service with a stranger and my friend who also happened to be my Pastor's wife. Only a few hours prior to that, I had to tell my children what a Doctor had just told me; that their daddy, who they had just cuddled with only a few hours before, was dead. My mind was reeling as I sat in front of this strange stranger discussing numbers and services that were mumbo jumbo to me because what was really ringing in my ears were Donnie's last breaths.

Although looking back it feels like a whirlwind, I remember every little moment of the next few days. I didn't black out or block out any details from my mind. I didn't live in a fog or go through the motions. I very intentionally got things done, lived by a list and crossed off items one by one. I slept very little and ate very little. I made hard decisions, I cleaned up the mess the EMT's left behind, I met with friends to plan Donnie's service and I held Emmi each night as she cried herself to sleep on her daddy's pillow, saying 'Daddy, Daddy, Daddy' over and over again in her broken sobs.

I was overwhelmed by emails and phone calls and instant messages and texts. I was asked: "What happened? What can I do? What do you need? When is the service? How are the kids? How are you holding up? Will you stay there? Where will you go? Have you thought about what will you do?" Some questions I could answer and some I could not. 

The next day was Emelia's 8th birthday. We had a small party for her at the church along with a meal that was prepared for friends and family coming in and for those who were helping me plan out Donnie's service. There's a picture or two of Emmi with a plastic crown on her head and a small smile on her face. Her eyes were still swollen and she was quiet and subdued, just not at all herself. 

His service was on Saturday, 2 days after Thanksgiving and 1 day after Emmi's birthday. My family and some close friends of ours were able to gather together with Donnie for an hour before the service. I couldn't afford to have him at the service just a quarter mile down the street, so we spent time with him there. It's not the way I would have chosen, but it was my best option at the time. 

It was different. He was on a table with wheels and they had covered him with what I would call hospital blankets because I couldn't afford to place him in a coffin even for just an hour. Despite the weirdness of the table and being able to see the wheels peeking out beneath the blanket, he really did look great. I had picked out his favorite suit and a baby blue shirt and some funky socks that he loved. But the blanket was crooked. And it was driving me crazy because it would have driven him crazy. I should have straightened it or asked the strange stranger to do it, but I just sat there and stared at it off and on for an hour. 

The memorial service at the church was amazing. We had a large framed photo of him in front of the church and honored him in several different ways. We laughed and we cried, shared memories and sang songs. It was just the way I wanted it. We had another similar service a week later in Louisiana at his home church. I was told by someone they had never been to a Memorial service like that before, which made me feel good. I thought it was fitting for Donnie because there was no one else like him. 

The second service which was held in Louisiana was more difficult for me. I guess because I was surrounded by the people that knew him best and with whom he had spent most of his years and also because this time, his remains were there. And maybe also because the kids weren't there (they didn't want to go through it a second time) I didn't feel I needed to be quite as strong as I try to be when I'm with them. The emotion was more raw and it was much harder for me to keep myself together. 

The internment was short and sweet in a beautiful Louisiana cemetery filled with white tombs ornamented with crosses, angels, Jesus's and Mary's. A few words were said and then a prayer was spoken. We stood a few moments letting the finality, that strangely didn't feel final, settle in and as I walked away from the family tomb he was placed in, I knew when they closed the door I would be separated from him, this time for good. It was surreal.

I spent the next few days with my family in North Louisiana and then headed home, back to our house, back to the kids' schools, back to church. Pulling up in our driveway without him made me sad. Walking in our front door and seeing the EMT's jacket and glasses that had been accidentally left behind made me sadder. The kids and I brought in our luggage and I put them to bed and then watched some TV while they slept. 

It was 3 weeks until Christmas.
  


This video was shared at both services. It's a collection we compiled from videos we found on Donnie's phone. It's 12 minutes long, but it's a fun ride when you have a few extra minutes. He was such a kook. :)

Tomorrow's Blog: The Aftermath, Part 2: The Move - Why I decided to move to DFW & How I did it in one month's time.