I don’t know much about funerals, and am quite naive on the religious etiquette of it all. What I am doing here is what I feel is the best thing I can do. Writing about my Mom. She loved my writing, so that is what I am doing.

There is a joke about a woman who was worried whether or not her late husband made it to heaven, so she decided to try to contact his spirit by having a seance. After the usual mumbo-jumbo of calling to the spirits, her husband’s voice was heard answering…

“Hello Margaret, this is meeee…Don’t worry, everything is ok, it’s much more beautiful here than I ever imagined, the sky is bluer, the air is cleaner, and the pastures are much more lush and green than I ever expected. And the only thing we do, all day long, are eat and sleep, eat and sleep, over and over.”

“Thank God, you made it to heaven,” his wife cried.

“Heaven?” he answered. “No, I’m a buffalo in Montana.”

So as I lightly delved into this slight irreverence, preparing my final post the night before the memorial, my wife suddenly walked in and asked me “Where did you get this?” holding my Dad’s old wallet.

I asked my Dad that day for some more pictures to add to this blog. He dug out his old wallet. Not much in there, just a few faded pictures. I left it on the kitchen counter and went to bed.

But Kelly acted like there was a goldmine in there, “Did you see what was in it?”, she said all excited.

Then read me a poem, from a sliver of newspaper cut out, inserted in between these two very faded pics.

The poem:

Thank you Mom.