Today was the day. Forever I would remember. We all would. We, the children of Randy and Kim, were burying our father. So alive mere days ago, yet now only living in our memories. Nothing could have prepared me for how I would feel.
Family came together, I saw cousins, aunts, uncles, and friends I had not seen in years. Holdings us, all of us, in each of their hearts, their minds, and in their prayers. I can't do this, I thought on the way to the funeral home. I'm just going to keep on going. Get some coffee and in a few hours we'll realize how much of a mistake we made.
He's not gone.
Be he was. Dad was gone. Dad is gone.
The visitation was minuscule, because that's all that was covered. Yet even in the minimalism I could only see a blur. The face of an aunt. Hi, thanks so much for being here. Hug and a kiss on the cheek. The outstretched hand of an uncle. Damn, you guys are all so grown now.
The five of us (Cory became extended offspring a defalta through his lifelong relationship with Dad) stood for a moment of silence in front of this non-significant box that housed my father's remains. Silence.
I looked at each of them with tears welling and pain lining their eyes, noses, and mouths. I wanted to hold each one and tell them it wasn't real. We had our moment, each of us touching the closed casket hoping it would substitute for actually touching him. It did not.We filed out slowly into the foyer, ready to complete the next part of this nightmare. Burial.
I tried to spark conversation, however fruitless. Nic and I walked down the hall and poured ourselves coffee. We pretended to be able to sip the scalding blackness, muttering nonsensical syllables between each other as we returned to our positions flanking the gathering area.
You're Big Randy now, someone said to me. I don't remember who, as I said everything bled together that day. I looked back into the visitation room. The river of carpet stretching out between pews ending with a stand that my Dad's casket was perched upon. 
Just a second, I told Abby motioning toward the funeral home workers, tell them to hold on for a second.I walked back down to Dad's box. I touched it with both hands and felt the escape of tears as they dripped onto his casket, leaving dark wet memories of the pain in my heart.
It's on me now, Dad, I said, I know you died with worry. You worried about everything. I'm an adult, hell, they're all adults now with kids and families, but you can trust me. I'll be there for them like you would have been. I'll love them, I'll keep my shit together so I can always help them like you would. Don't take that worry with you, Dad.
I cried.
I love you, Dad, I said before kissing the box, I miss you so much.
Already.
(to be continued)
