Dear friends went to Horton’s today and sent me a picture of my Dad’s headstone. It was just installed and I hadn’t even had a chance to get out there yet.

It. Hit. Me. Hard.

So final.

Final because it was the last task for me to double check.

Final because his name is in writing on a stone.

And then I remembered.

Not. Final.

It’s not final.

It’s a body with soil and stone – what’s left when the soul is gone.

What’s actually final is his destination; where his spirit went.

Today is the part of Holy Week when we typically focus on the fact that Jesus was crucified. But it’s also the day that we can choose to remember some of the last words He spoke, sharing with a criminal the final destination He was looking forward to. Today you will be with me in paradise.

Dear Dad, I’m guessing Paradise rocks. Now that I’ve recalled the word paradise, I can’t get those old David Lee Roth lyrics out of my head. I have a renewed love for 80s metal since you’ve been gone. You’d be horrified, and your scrunched up horrified face always made me laugh. The process of living and grieving, trying to set the example you talked about, means tears one minute and animated talks of Easter baskets filled with goodies the next. I ate a lot of the girls’ chocolate before Easter this year. A lot A LOT. But Amazon saved the day and delivered more just in time. I’m not getting all the things done each day, but I am getting the important ones done and done well – so I think you’d be proud. It’s springtime and everything is blooming. Remember that time you pulled over on 64 and picked the wildflowers I thought were so pretty? The ones that we later discovered are protected by law and there’s even a giant sign saying so?! Fun times. Miss you, Dad. I’m OK and I know it. Hope you know it, too.