Last evening as I walked into the funeral home, a place I have come to loathe, I couldn't help but notice the variety of people that were standing outside talking and comforting each other. I grew up in a small town where most everyone looked alike and dressed alike. But that is not what I witnessed last night and it made me happy. There were cowboys, rockers, hip-hoppers, punks, and clean cut kids. To me it spoke of Wade's influence and his family's influence.
Today at the funeral it was the same way. The church was packed beyond capacity. Again, the variety of people was obvious. I know there were some in the church and in town that were having a hard time with some in attendance. But, I wish I could have had a conversation with some of them, especially the guy with Bible verses tattooed on his head. I would love to hear his story.
When I got the horrifying news of Wade's death, all I could think of was that Tracy had lost his son, Doyle and Diane had lost their grandson, Tim and Cindy had lost their nephew and all right on the heels of Phyllis' death. It was almost paralyzing to think about their loss. But, it wasn't until during the service that I even thought about Wade being the same age as my Aaron. And that almost took me under. I didn't and wouldn't and won't let my mind go there. It would do no good.
So, how do I end a blog like this? I don't know. I hope I never have to write another one like this.