Pop died 7/28/05, Thursday morning. Moms side of the family had scheduled a family reunion for 7/29 and 30. This is an ongoing reunion on a 2 year cycle. Once, every other year on the last weekend of July we all get together. A different family hosts the reunion each time.
The Friday night get together was cancelled once and later relocated and rescheduled. Saturday we all gathered at Greg and Erins'. Food was plentiful. I did not count all the relatives but there were some that I had not seen before. Little ones abounded. It was a needed respite from the past few days.

We left the reunion early to go see Pop at the funeral home. Mom, my sisters and brother and their spouses, my wife and I were to meet there. This will be a closed casket funeral. Dad is in state (on display) up at the front of the chapel. We decided that if anyone wanted to see him they could come in Saturday or Sunday and say their goodbyes. Our thinking was that Pop would not like all those people looking at him at the funeral. In thinking about it now, I can not see the difference between him setting there for two day and having mourners file past on Monday. Anyway...we all came in to view him. Using each other for moral support.

By the time my wife and I arrived, all the rest were already up at the casket. Mom broke down several times over the course of the visit. This has not been easy for her. I wish I could take away some of the hurt. I can't.

Just before leaving the hospital room after Pop had been officially pronounce dead I kissed him on the forehead and said goodbye. The warmth of life was still with him. I can still feel the warmth. At the funeral home, Saturday, I leaned over and kissed his forehead again. This time he was cold. This time the fact that he was dead began to make its way into my psyche.

We have some things to take care of today. To get ready for the service. The women have many things that they think need to be done at the services to honor Pop. I am hoping that I honored him enough while he lived. As is probably usual I feel that I failed in that respect.

I am trying to get a handle on the death thing.

• I am not a Christian.
• I lean toward Tom Paines' Deist views.
• There is a god.
• He/She/It does not interfere with us.
• Benign neglect.
• Combined with Darwins views on evolution.

This is not a powerful or over riding belief system as far as beliefs go. I will not try to convert anyone to my belief melange.

What I am finding that is comforting is to know that I and all my sisters and brother have parts of my father in us. We are like DNA cocktails. Mixtures of our parents DNA and teachings (because DNA does not explain all). It sounds a little cold written like this, but substitute love for DNA and it softens it a little. The DNA that constructed me is a physical thing. That DNA came from my father and mother. They are both a part of me, physically, I am their construct. I have passed these physical parts of them on to my children and eventually they will pass them onto their offspring.

So what am I trying to say here? Though I have lost my father, his body has quit and will be laid to rest. He is effectively immortal regardless of any religious dogma. He is shared among his brothers and sisters and through them their offspring. He is shared among his children in combination with my mother, so Dad and Mom will always be together in a more real sense than any religious tale can concoct.

So far this has only dealt with the physical, not how he touched others. My father was a good man. A moral man. Not a religious man. He was not a perfect man. It was important for him to try and do the right thing. He did not have to have a sacred book to tell him right from wrong. He would paddle you if you needed it (not beat...a couple of swats on the butt to get your attention). Generally you would be more ashamed to have let him down than hurt by the swats.

In other words he was a human being that got along in this world. Did most of what he wanted. Was happy most of the time.

I loved him and miss him already.

7 am Thursday morning my father died. With his family gathered around him, he slipped away quietly.

He had been living with cancer for many years. It had cost him a lung and his prostate. Yes, he smoked. He had quit several times. But soon, like many I know, the addiction would draw him back. He only really quit when they took his lung out.