Colder and rainy, but still good. I think I will write something about my papa to read in church. Makes the perfectionist in me toss with nervousness, but another part of me, a big, true part, says I must. I told my dad I thought about speaking, so I'll probably have to at this point. I told my instructor I may be a little distant this first week of class, under the circumstances, and even more so in preparation for this. My year in a fellowship has shown me a scared person's capabilities of speaking in public. It's what to say, not say, and not forget to say that worries me. Nothing a little meditation can't fix. And I'm really hip to the idea of humiliation leading to humility. Speaking in public is a risk. I'ts also a chance to grow. The good memories of papa will be mine, but the words will be supplied from something bigger than myself.

I was also thinking we could have a large pot full of my papa's garden soil for visitors to either take a cup of or have it aside his casket and dump a cupful on him as we set a flower on top and say our last goodbyes. My dad didn't respond to this idea but my sister liked it.

Yesterday the kids and I went over my in-laws (they live close by). Both still have their parents. Hers are in their 90's and have all their marbles. They are happy people despite their bodies falling apart. My mother-in-law works 50 hours a week and has to take her mom to and from the hospital each day to sit with her husband, then cook for her mom and put her to bed. My MIL is not a complainer, but this is taking a toll on her. I can't say be grateful they are still alive. I'm not a huge fan of medicine and technology prolonging life past a certain age, especially when seeing such old people makes me choke on my own mortality for a period of time before, during, and after a visit. I guess that's the true meaning of being bad with goodbyes.