Cleaning out doesn't mean moving on

Today, after church, the sisters (and family) met at The Lantern to clean out Dad's room. Each article of clothing that I stuffed in the black plastic bag tugged at my tear ducts a little. But none of it made me cry. I'm pretty sure I haven't run out of tears so I hope they aren't waiting to build up again. One of the things that was tough about Dad's funeral was that there were fewer people there than at Mom's. While I anticipated that might happen, it was still tough to see. So, it was a relief when a couple of different people at church told me they hadn't known it was Dad since the paper listed him as Roy (his first name) instead of Marvin (his middle but usually used name). I'm going to give everyone the benefit of the doubt that they didn't know. These posts are going to be winding down. After all, the earthquake has happened and now I'm just dealing with aftershocks. One of these days, if anyone checks in here, it is going to read The End. Not of me, of course, just the blog. Thank you all for caring.